Gavin Hood’s Eye in the Sky (A-) is a spectacular meditation on the costs of wars waged with drone spies and unmanned planes that can drop missiles with perfect precision and why the human element is still so powerful in waging a fair battle. There is a lot of waiting game and bureaucratic bickering that weighs down some of the film’s most cinematic possibilities, but the moral dilemma at the movie’s heart as an international coalition determines how to capture or destroy suicide bombers in Kenya without significant collateral damage will prompt some fascinating discussion. Helen Mirren is magnificent as a war room commander, and Aaron Paul is solid as the U.S. soldier with his hand on the trigger. While underused in much of the film as a British commander and negotiator, the late Alan Rickman gets some brilliant parting words. Barkhad Abdi is also effective a heroic accomplice on the ground, deeply humanizing the depths of the danger to friends and neighbors when terrorism strikes cities. The sheer voyeurism of the drone plots makes for some suspenseful sequences, but it’s the human cat and mouse game at the movie’s center that makes the narrative gripping. It’s an intellectual thriller that condenses one of the great debates of our time into a satisfying story.
The “some” of all things that Richard Linklater’s Everybody Wants Some!! (A) purports all people desire is becoming part of a loving and supportive community. Not really a spoiler if you admire this writer/director like I do! For the Texas student athletes hazing each other in the random days before university classes start, you’d never guess that this oft-imbibing tribe is an enduring community; but leave it to Linklater to capture a note-perfect ode to love and friendship. Blake Jenner is superb as the wide-eyed protagonist freshman, always equipped with a quip and the grip of an all-star baseball pitcher’s outstretched arm of gratitude. Glen Powell is a standout among a perfectly cast cavalcade of jocks as the wise, witty and literate ring-leader. And Zoey Deutsch scores one for the ladies’ team as a compelling theatre major love interest and perfect foil for all the frat-tactic acting out. Linklater’s fluid, episodic and unforced structure is just dandy for the lazy last days of summer as the college kids put on their different hats and try out different roles, quite literally in the dance clubs, country watering holes, house parties and dugout. The characters are sharp and funny and just vulgar enough to still be charming; and the through-line of tender acceptance and blossoming connections is a delight. The nostalgic ’80s vibe is perfectly evoked and the dreadful bro-couture consistently hilarious. Oneupmanship as the ultimate bond of brotherhood is carried out in sequences involving bongs, ping pongs and ’80s songs, often to revealing effect. The film is being billed as a spiritual sequel to Dazed and Confused, but it is really a continuation of the art of new love explored in the Before trilogy, the coming of age encountered in Boyhood and the rag-tag ensemble shenanigans of School of Rock. It’s a lark with lots of heart, and that’s quite an art.
Told with sincerity and cerebral grace, Jeff Nichols’ Midnight Special (B+) upends many conventions of the sci-fi and supernatural genres to deliver a memorable tale. Michael Shannon is highly effective as the father of an otherworldly child (Jaeden Lieberher) and along with a buddy nicely played by Joel Edgerton is secretly transporting the precious kid cargo from a religious sect in time for some sort of day of reckoning. With Sam Shepard in a small role as leader of a cult, Kirsten Dunst as the child’s estranged mom and Adam Driver as a preternaturally wise government agent, it’s unclear if we’re preparing for abductions, alien invasions or the rapture itself. Nichols sustains a slow-burn tension and a desaturated color pallet through most of the journey and employs very few special effects, aside from the kids’ light beam eyes that look like lens flairs that would be the envy of J.J. Abrams. The story leaves a variety of unsolved mysteries but will appeal to fans of M. Night Shyamalan’s early work. The acting is so subdued that you almost yearn for someone to go a bit nuts, and the one-note child performance leaves us a bit wanting. But the film will reward fans who appreciate the indie treatment to this kind of story.
Zack Synder’s Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice (C) is schizophrenic in virtually every way, from its title that purports to be both an unexpected showdown as well as a Justice League origin story to keeping up with each of its title characters and their respective alter egos. I swear you’d need a 3-D modeling kit to diagram this plot; and for comic book fans already accustomed to a multiverse of known rules, the film complicates the landscape even further and not always in good ways. The first hour is rather compelling as we see ways earthlings are grappling with its Kryptonian savior, resulting in intercontinental espionage, congressional hearings and noirish double crosses. It gets complicated though when Alexander Luthor, played with relish by Jesse Eisenberg, hatches a way to kill Superman/Clark Kent (Henry Cavill) that somehow involves Batman/Bruce Wayne (Ben Affleck) using Kryptonite to level the playing field and fight to the death as mere mortals. All of this is made even more vexing by it not being entirely clear why Batman is near masochistically intent on destroying a super guy who he may have one or two passing disagreements with. And, oh yeah, there’s a Kryptonian villain plus Wonder Woman (Gal Gadot) to introduce, the latter with guitar riffs that sound composed by Bill & Ted. It’s not a complete folly, but there’s a bit more blistering bombast than any film should contain. So many aspects actually work that it’s a shame it just gets overstuffed. The production values, the always reliable Amy Adams as Lois Lane and some of the set-pieces are first rate. Alas Affleck and his hybrid butler/inventor (Jeremy Irons, collecting a paycheck), seem lost at sea. Which reminds me, where did Aquaman go? You’ll ultimately be exhausted as this buffet often has explosive consequences. Although much of the movie is lively and engaging, beware whatever they’re smoking in Snyder’s basement.
There’s a fine line between a hot flash and a hot mess, and Sally Field plays nearly every facet of an amazing woman coming into her own late in life as the title character of Michael Showalter’s Hello, My Name is Doris (B+). Although some sequences and snippets of the screenplay veer into overly broad comedy (it’s no accident that Field’s supporting cast includes talented sitcom stars Max Greenfield, Wendy McLendon-Covey and Beth Behrs), the pulsing heart of the film is the protagonist’s journey of self-acceptance and renewal. After the death of the mother she cared for most of her adult life, Field’s awkward ad agency accountant becomes romantically fixated with Greenfield’s charming millennial creative director who has given her some suspicious side-glances. We are in delight watching Doris grow giddy as a schoolgirl; and while we root for her, we also ponder how to solve a problem like this sheltered high-flying “nun”-derkind breaking free of her self-imposed convent and getting her groove back. Showalter finds fun and pathos in the generational juxtaposition: everything old is cool again, from knitting clubs to artisan cocktails to day-glow vintage fashions. The film is every bit a commentary on ageism as it is a good-natured ribbing of hipster culture. Tyne Daly is a highlight in the best friend role of this unconventional romcom, and it’s nifty to see women in their sixties bond and bicker with the best of ’em. Grace notes include awkward set-ups and awakenings, a spirited soundtrack and an empathy for Doris even when we’re cringing at some of her most ill-advised antics. Field is really the reason it all works, and she brings out her best in playing the truth of her character while leveraging the subversiveness of her comedic chops. Equally resonant to all who are young at heart, this Hello is welcome.
Variety is the spice of life in a misunderstood modern metropolis for the deep-thinking but soft-spoken subject of a new documentary. Director Laura Gabbert’s City of Gold (B-) traces the impact and resonance of Pulitzer Prize-winning Los Angeles food critic Jonathan Gold as he illuminates the cultural underbelly of the city by way of its salmagundi of cuisines. It’s quickly apparent how delicacies doled out to tastebuds and tummies can awaken intellectual quandaries ranging from what immigration or the race riots have done to shape pockets of diverse populations to how exotic cooking traditions should be re-examined in the face of extinction of certain animals used for food. While this iconoclast’s superb ideas and writing crackle with energy and authenticity, the man himself is only rarely a compelling cinematic subject; and Gabbert’s hit-or-miss vision undercuts the would-be savory storytelling. Grand in its filming of mariachi bands and taco stands and bustling Korean kitchens that inspire pop-up congregations but just as often lost in the mêlée of long car rides, editorial meetings or disconnected encounters, it’s hard to fathom why the loving film craft sometimes pulses and just as often sputters. While it’s notable that the populist critic who finds wonders in strip-malls and the underlying humanity in the oddest of edibles has sketched out his own map to the stars of the everyday dinner table, the film could use a bit more verve. Still it’s a loving and enjoyable tribute. Much as Life Itself demonstrated the power of Roger Ebert’s pen to raise unexpected voices into the multiplex mainstream, the City Jonathan Gold conjures wielding chopsticks, forks and folklore is its own utopian umami.
It’s not completely clear what the ultimate Cloverfield continuity encompasses, but producer J.J. Abrams’ answer to an anthology series a la Steven Spielberg’s Amazing Stories or Ryan Murphy’s American Horror Story started with a 2008 found footage Godzilla thriller and in 2016 features a completely different set of characters and a storyline which may or may not occupy that same cinematic universe. Dan Trachtenberg’s eerie and suspenseful 10 Cloverfield Lane (B+) centers on a compelling performance by Mary Elizabeth Winstead held captive in a doomsday bunker by John Goodman in a sublimely creepy role with comic relief from John Gallagher, Jr., who is either a fellow captive or conspirator. Themes of gamesmanship are explored as the three characters play each other and confound audience expectations. There may or may not be a zombie apocalypse, alien invasion or full-out war breaking out beyond the survivalist lair. Trachtenberg succeeds in crafting a tense and taut succession of action set pieces within a confined space and with old-fashioned tools and techniques and a propulsive throwback score. He earns his scares and wins hearts with spot-on performances. The acting, especially by Winstead, is uniformly outstanding; and the thrills compound in the final act. You don’t need to know a thing going in, and don’t expect to know it all coming out; but this film is a rollicking good time. The rest is classified.
Wielding a war arsenal ranging from zingers to Zambonis, comfortable going commando for confrontations and partial to the musical stylings of Wham! to set the mood, the titular hero of Tim Miller’s Deadpool (A-) leapfrogs most recent films in the comic book genre in terms of both action and comedy in a single bound. Ryan Reynolds offers a career re-defining role breathing fleet-footed life into a wry, wisecracking mercenary that leaves Han Solo, Iron Man and Wolverine in the collective dust. His vulgar and animated antics are sensational. Morena Baccarin gives him a run for his money as his idiosyncratic lady love, and Ed Skrein is fantastic as the diabolical villain. The protagonist’s deal with the devil when facing a terminal cancer diagnosis sets the stage for a very different pathway into motivations ranging from romance to revenge that give the proceedings amped-up resonance. From the self-referential opening credits to musical montages that are note-perfect (you won’t soon forget the “Calendar Girl” sequence), Miller and the crackling writing team fashion a hipster antihero who is brash and brilliant. It’s a dark, profane, bloody and bonkers great time at the movies.
Please stop this franchise. A foreign soil-set follow-up to White House attack thriller Olympus Has Fallen, Babak Najafi’s London Has Fallen (D+) is largely a load of bollocks. Najafi stages an elaborate British state funeral sabotaged by terrorist assassins followed by a breakneck series of escapes in which a Secret Service agent (Gerard Butler) endeavors to protect the U.S. President (Aaron Eckhart) from meeting a deadly fate. Let’s just say the Moldavia massacre on Dynasty inspired more suspense. The love child of Shrek and the red Angry Bird, Butler is cringeworthy as the goofball hero. Except for his apparent strength and sharpshooter skills, the miscast muscleman is not believable for a moment as having a lick of wit or wisdom. He and a wooden Eckhart phone in some of the most banal dialogue that four screenwriters can conjure, throwing in variances on the f-bomb as a creative way to taunt their adversaries. Old formulas apparently die hard. Aside from one inventively filmed helicopter chase, most of the action is routine. The villain even seems a bit bored by it all. Morgan Freeman and Angela Bassett are wasted in very small supporting roles, although girlfriend’s brows are on point. Kiefer and Claire could teach these filmmakers a thing or two about geopolitical adventures and the emotion necessary to make us care.
provided year-round by parent organization, the Atlanta Film Society.