Thriller – Reel Priest Peggy

Bond Bust

No Time to Die – 2021 – PG13

First of all, I’m not a James Bond aficionado, my most vivid memory will show my age: a sleek woman covered in gold, unfortunately dead from the dreaded “skin suffocation” revealed five plus decades ago in Goldfinger, 007’s third movie. That said, let me offer a few reflections on installment #25, No Time to Die. My summary comment and accompanying suggestion is this: settle down and watch 2015’s Spectre in order to prepare for this 2021 storyline. Otherwise you risk spending the entire 163 minute run time wondering what, who and why—like I did. Until I got home and read a few reviews I thought Spectre was an incognito character, only to be illuminated that it’s a long established (genesis 1965’s Thunderball) international criminal organization, Special Executive for Counter-intelligence, Terrorism, Revenge and Extortion. Then there is the mayhem at Vesper’s tomb, a pivotal plot moment that, without any prior context, I puzzled over the chaos to the point of dozing off. If I don’t know the characters it’s a stretch to care and, apparently for me, stay awake. Admittedly my reclining heated theater lounge chair didn’t help. After ho-humming through the human carnage from bombs, guns, knives and car chases across Italy, Cuba and London, my more alert moments were in Norway when young Madeleine witnesses the murder of her mother by bad boy Safin (Rami Malek) in a failed attempt to kill Madeleine’s bad guy father. Definitely broke the big screen ice. I also perked up in Jamaica where James (Daniel Craig) retires to a life of isolated, fishing bliss only to be talked back into global spy action by the British Secret Service’s new 007, Nomi (Lashana Lynch), and Bond’s reconnection with grown up Madeleine (Léa Seydoux) after a five year hiatus since a sadly severed love affair. A sweet Norwegian surprise is tucked away. The charming revelation awaits but, but, but….the Madeline/James rekindled romance is too May-December for me. Not quite dirty old man but a tiny bit ewwww. The finalé is staged at an abandoned World War 2 submarine base on an island between Japan and Russia, Safin’s eve of destruction nanobot headquarters. The destiny of untold millions of humans are at stake. Shocking. Positively shocking. Can Bond open the silo doors to enable a missile strike and save humanity? What do you think? Uh……fill in the obvious blank. Relax and relish the epic annihilation. What’s in 007’s cinematic future? This film will leave you wondering. No concrete ideas to offer except whoever or whatever’s next, without a doubt the name’s Bond. James Bond.

See You Later Alligator!

Crawl – 2019 – R

If you like watching the animal kingdom chomp, crunch and swallow a swath of humans, Jaws and Crawl would make an epic double feature! If you are a diehard shark attack fan, summer audiences have been enthralled by The Shallows in 2016, 47 Meters Down in 2017, The Meg in 2018 and in 2020, sadly a reality tragedy unfolded as a 26 year old surfer lost his leg and life to a great white off the beach in Santa Cruz County at an area known as “Shark Park.” Rest In Peace. Sharks, I contest, have filled more than their fair share of screen time. 2019 belongs to gluttonous gators. Trust me, Crawl will more than satisfy your craving for carnage.

The plot, if you insist, is Dave (Barry Pepper) goes missing, sending his University of Florida competitive swimmer and estranged daughter Haley (Kaya Scodelario) hunting for him as a Category 5 hurricane begins pounding the Everglades. Following a trail of empty booze bottles, Haley finds dad injured in the crawl space under their family home. Incapacitated dad and determined daughter both are trapped as spiders, rats, sewage, unidentifiable rotting things and rising sea waters play second fiddle to two hungry, hungry, 15-foot alligators playing Hide, Seek & Eat with Haley and Dave.

Yes, there are ridiculous and absurd interludes. When seconds stand between you and being eaten alive, do you really check messages on the cell phone you just risked your life to recover from the muck? The answer is, if you are a 21st century college student, yes, by all means do stop and post to Instagram! Don’t mind us, we will hold our breath while a massive gator closes in. (Kidding, she was calling 9-1-1 but with the all the urgency given to a social media post). Speaking of holding your breath, Haley and a breath holding record in Ripley’s Believe It or Not are a done deal. For one ready-set-SWIM “Gator vs Haley” race to the drain hole, she forfeited breathing long enough for me to complete a kitchen popcorn and beverage run.

Even with the inexplicable and the absurd, Crawl was bursting with enough decent and indecent jump scares to qualify as a perfect quarantine movie night selection. At 87 minutes in length, it roars along at a gator kill ratio of one human per every 17.5 minutes so there’s more gristle and gore than actual casualties, a nod to those of you who cringe at high body counts. The big question, does Crawl’s loyal and loving Sugar the scruffy dog suffer the same fate as poor Pipet, the genial black lab in Jaws? No spoilers from me. Watch until the inevitable cut-to-black ending, the sure sign of an indie B movie for which Crawl definitely qualifies—but, it’s a fun watch, worth your time. Unfortunately, Crawl can only be watched on Amazon Prime’s relatively new EPIX channel. We signed up for the 7-day free trial just to see Crawl and afterwards got hooked on EPIX’s original series Belgravia so we may be in the hole for $5.99/month until we complete our binge. In the meantime, enjoy some gator grazing and gazing, guaranteed pandemic pandemonium.

Twitch & Shout

Motherless Brooklyn – 2019 – R

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 idea how 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.

Sea Murk

Underwater- 2020 – PG13

I love anything ocean. During my teen years growing up a block from the beach in Santa Cruz, my best friend was the niece of Lloyd Bridges so I spent a fair amount of time hanging out with the Bridges family including Beau and Jeff. I still name drop at any sighting of the Bridges brothers. “Hey, I played tennis with Beau!” “There’s Jeff Bridges! I went to the Boardwalk with him.” Indeed, I was a huge Sea Hunt fan forever dreaming of my own scuba dive escapades—which never happened—turns out I don’t really like swimming in deep waters. So I get to take those daring plunges vicariously through film! But poor, ill-conceived Underwater, a project that sat mercifully on the shelf for three years, makes nary a ripple of watery adventure as it is finally released into the cold doldrum seas of January.

You barely get situated with your popcorn and drink before catastrophe hits research station Kepler 822 operating at the bottom of the Mariana Trench, the deepest sea depression in the world, seven miles underwater. A massive earthquake (or maybe marauding sea monsters) rock the station followed by a BA-BOOM explosion leaving slim pickings for the surviving crew, Norah (Kristen Stewart), an engineer who mostly runs around barefoot in skimpy underwear; weepy “we’re all going to die” biologist Emily (Jessica Henwick) and her stand and deliver boyfriend Liam (John Gallagher Jr.) who sadly fails to stand or deliver instead winding up on his back dragged across the ocean floor by now heroic but still weeping Emily; goofball, wisecracking Paul (T.J. Miller) who for no apparent reason carries a stuffed bunny under his shirt; golly gee whiz Rodrigo (Mamoudou Athie), oops, first to lose his head, literally. Sorry no professor and Mary Ann but there is a skipper too, hapless, unfortunate Captain “no one is going to die” Lucien (Vincent Cassel) under whose command almost everyone dies. Of the seven characters that’s pretty much all you need to know. Good thing because that’s all we learn before the “my, what big teeth you have” alien creatures of the deep dine, slime and swallow most of the subterranean six (subtracting long gone headless Rod) as they attempt a deep sea hike to the safety of Roebuck Station, a mile away.

Once I suspended even a modicum of belief, I still had to contend with indecipherable, gurgling dialogue— an oceanic Tower of Babel—plus a scatter gun barrage of terrified, wide-eyed, gaping faces grimacing and gasping behind cracked, clunky deep sea diving helmets. I seriously never knew who was where doing what. The filmmakers didn’t even see fit to provide a clear full frontal of the slimy sea monsters rather substituting a cinematic hide and seek version of “Where’s Waldo?” It was like my head was submerged in a 5 gallon aquarium, the starter kit pump running amok creating a fishbowl whirlpool of swirling sand and floundering, bewildered fish. Or like taking a peripheral vision test at my optometrist’s office where I annually stress over pushing a button every time a light flashes on the screen. Flash! Norah’s eyes. Flash! Emily’s eyes. Or Norah‘s? Flash! A tentacle. Flash! A monster. Or was it the captain? Flash! Flash! Flash! Arggghhhhh!

There was a faint storyline of “we’ve taken too much and now the sea is taking back” environmental politics. But in addition to that one line you had to digest the rest through newspaper clippings shoehorned amongst the ending credits. Flash! Flash! Practice your speed reading. Oh, and lest I forget, revive your childhood Sunday School memories of “Jonah and the Whale” in preparation for perhaps the most ridiculous shot in all of horrible horror films: please give it up for “Norah and the Leviathan.”

I will spare you more details—well, there really isn’t much more to say except [Spoiler Alert] two escape pods float to the surface with a duo of crew members intact. That’s it, no more hints. You too will need to forfeit 95 minutes of your life to discover who survived. Be forewarned. It took me a solid stretch of time in a mental decompression chamber to escape the bad movie bends. Instead of weathering Underwater, you may wish to invest your leisure minutes lobbying Hulu for a Sea Hunt marathon. Now that would be a splash!

Bleak Christmas

Black Christmas – 2019 – PG13

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.

Big Apple Lockdown

21 Bridges – 2019 – R

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.

Teflon Terror

Dark Waters – 2019 – PG13

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.

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.”

Based on a lie…Is this our legacy?

Horrible Horror

Dr. Sleep – 2019 – R

Let me just say that 40 years is a long time to wait for a sequel! To amp up for Stephen King’s Dr. Sleep, I dropped $3.99 and rented Stanley Kubrick’s 1980 adaptation of The Shining. In memory of my money forever lost to Amazon Prime coffers, I’m coining a new film category, “Horrible Horror.” The Shining was flat ridiculous. Silly. Absurdly laughable. Who gets terrified by a little red-headed tyke wandering around hoarsely repeating red rum, red rum? He sounds like he has the croup. I pulled up list after list of “Scariest Movies Ever” and I’ll be damned, The Shining tops every list. Go figure. Anyway, unimpressed by Shining #1, I skeptically reported to Shining #2, Dr. Sleep.

The movie is admittedly a bloody cut above it’s predecessor. How much a “cut above” you ask? Not much. Creepier than the screen action was being completely alone in the theater for the 2 1/2 hour runtime, a solitary first. With just me and all those empty seats, the sound had a definite reverb. I kept nervously glancing around, hearing disembodied creaking and rustling echoing from every direction. I couldn’t stop myself. Embarrassing.

All grown up Red Rum Danny boy, Dan Torrance (Ewan McGregor) has regrettably turned to alcohol, cocaine and naked lady romps to blot out that one unfortunate childhood winter at the Overlook Hotel. Understandably, being chased around a haunted hotel by your axe-wielding, deranged dad (Jack Nicholson) tends to have a lasting PTSD effect. After one too many bar fights and alcohol induced blackouts, Dan moves to a small New Hampshire town where he is immediately befriended by benevolent and intuitive, Billy Freeman (Cliff Curtis), joins AA, sobers up and lands a hospice job attending to the dying. He’s assisted by lap cat, feline fatale Azzie who apparently channels Dan’s clairvoyance, taking a shine to the next person to die, Azzie plops on their bed for a cat nap. If you hear purring, start praying. Azzie the psychic cat helps Dan earn the moniker Dr. Sleep.

After eight uneventful New England years, Dan is jolted back to his paranormal shadow side when middle schooler, Abra Stone (Kyliegh Curran), psychically surfaces and makes a metaphysical connection. Teenage Abra is a super duper shiner, far more perceptive and powerful than middle aged Dan, but she urgently needs a co-shiner and Dan will do. Through Abra’s inter-dimensional, x-ray vision, she’s discovered a roaming cult of vampire-like, RV traveling hippies, The True Knot. This morbid gang of quasi-immortals kidnap, torture, kill and consume the dying breaths of psychically gifted children—just like her. They must be stopped. On two occasions we watch the ghoulish gang lure children of the shine to their deaths, a prolonged ritual of grisly mutilation and unspeakable torture led by psychopathic cult leader Rose The Hat (Rebecca Ferguson). Rose explains to her young victims how it works: the greater the terror and more intense the pain, the more nutritious and satisfying the ghoul’s sadistic feast. Through a rite of hellacious suffering, the child’s dying life force is released as visible “steam” sending the barbaric freaks into a macabre cannibalistic orgy. The graphic, nightmarish torture of a 9-year old little leaguer was a disturbing, degenerate scene, beyond monstrous, that took the film to a place it didn’t need to go. I can’t think of many—make that any—friends of mine who would sit through it.

When the action retreads to the snowy Colorado Rockies and the long abandoned Overlook Hotel, I perked up at the possible inventive intersections between Shine, the original and Sleep, the sequel. I even dreamed up my own fabulous ending that offered creative redemption to the denouement. Nope, this film powered down and, dare I say, ran out of steam. I was recently asked if I’d ever been to a movie that afterwards I wished I could unsee. I couldn’t think of any. New answer: Dr. Sleep. Horrible Horror.

Twists and Turns

The Good Liar – 2019 – R

Ian McKellen plays Londoner Roy Courtnay and Helen Mirren widowed suburbanite Betty McLeish in this serpentine, convoluted thriller/drama that packages all requisite elements for a solid entertainment experience: outstanding lead acting, talented ensemble cast and audience-gasping screen surprises! The plot starts out pretty simple. Using an on-line dating service, two senior Brits, suave Roy and sophisticated Betty, meet for a blind date. Over dinner both swear superlative allegiance to honesty but by dessert each confesses to adopting a profile alias. Estelle and Brian please meet Betty and Roy. Let the lies fly! We watch Roy and Betty fill out their dating profiles. Roy checks the “non-smoker” box while puffing on a cigarette. Betty checks the “non-drinker” box while sipping a martini. It goes fictitiously on and on from there. Dear Roy we learn is a scam artist who specializes in elaborate, high stakes real estate boondoggles. Here a scam, there a sting. Nor does he mind dabbling in mere fraud or embezzlement if there is a victim to be conned. Wealth is not Roy’s primary motivation, it’s the thrill of the hunt and Roy is exceptional at putting away his prey. Sweet, unassuming Betty, Roy sniffs out, is worth a fortune. Captivated by the sheer beauty of bilking, he sets in motion a seductive scheme to steal her every…single…pound. Hold on though. Unpretentious Betty may appear an easy mark but in fact is a retired Oxford scholar, perceptive, brilliant and accomplished. Has Roy finally met his match?

Soon after leaving the theater, a friend asked for my opinion and I said, “It was twisted.” Correction! It was full of twists. Well, there were a couple of twisted characters in the mix. This is true. One is Roy’s longtime conspiracy partner, Vincent, who is none other than the world’s most identifiable butler, Mr. Carson (Jim Carter) of Downton Abbey fame! I admit it hurt me to see Mr. Carson, aka Vincent, go to the dark side. If you are less into character development and more into mayhem, never fear, there is a fair share of blood splatter, pulverized hands and faces, murders and muggings. Something for everyone. History too. Just don’t get lulled into accepting the silvered haired couple’s spontaneous trip to Berlin is really about visiting the Brandenburg Gate. And think twice before swallowing that Betty’s supremely suspicious and overly protective grandson Steven (Russell Tovey) is researching WW2 for his Ph.D. dissertation. Maybe yes but probably no. Take nothing on face value. The plot will undoubtedly catch you smugly predicting a twist or two but the “big reveal” I dare say, you will not see it coming.

The best part of this film is seeing ageless, epic stars Sir Ian McKellen and Dame Helen Mirren performing together, a marvelous, wonderful acting first. With 40 years of these two British icons appearing on stage and screen, movie and television, how did we get so lucky to watch their dazzling duet debut? Go see The Good Liar and add your name to the lucky list, but here’s a tip: use a fake name. Wink. Wink. 😉

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!!