I've reviewed films for more than 35 years. Current movie reviews of new theatrical releases and streaming films are added weekly to the Silver Screen Capture movie news site. Many capsule critiques originally appeared in expanded form in my syndicated Lights Camera Reaction column.
Drifters and grifters get director Guillermo del Toro’s macabre treatment in the 2021 remake of Nightmare Alley (B), an impeccably made and sometimes meandering film noir with a crackerjack Cate Blanchett infused final act. Set in early 1940s America, the movie is a showcase for Bradley Cooper as a mysterious nomad who works odd jobs in carnivals and leverages his talents as a cipher and sponge to become a bit of a mentalist to the upper class. Like many films in this genre, the antihero’s past is catching up with him, but the stakes in this case seem oddly low for much of the film’s prodigious duration. Cooper only occasionally captivates opposite a parade of colorful co-stars ranging from Willem Dafoe to Richard Jenkins to the aforementioned Blanchett (herself the most interesting character of all, an icy therapist). The production design is singularly exquisite, in both the roadside attractions and art deco upper crust sequences, and there is much to like when the characters give a glimpse behind their humble magic tricks. It’s a good but not great effort from a visionary who typically has a bit more up his sleeve.
For a superhero series marked by continuous reboots, it’s only appropriate the latest entry is all about second chances. Spider-Man: No Way Home (B+) is the third in the arch directed by Jon Watts, and if Sam Raimi’s first trilogy sputtered in its third incarnation and Marc Webb’s trilogy two didn’t even eek out a third film, this installment manages to soar more than ever the third time around. Tom Holland is exceedingly charming and relatable in the titular role and joined again by a wry Zendaya and an amusing Jacob Batalon as his high school classmates. After his secret identity is revealed, Holland’s Peter Parker seeks out the multiverse magic of Dr. Strange (a droll Benedict Cumberbatch), and a cabinet of curiosities is flung open including some past villains. The film has a fresh and frenetic quality with a winning brand of humor and elaborate action sequences to please the Marvel Universe faithful. There’s a Back to the Futuremeets Inception quality to this entry, with insider humor and twisty timelines lacing this magnificent movie mixtape. More sentimental and more epic in scope than any of the live action Spider-Man films before it, this one rewards both casual and fanatic viewers with blissful bombast and heart.
Adapting Shakespeare is a delicate art, making that plot and poetry resonate as a stage and movie musical even more of a deft craft and remaking a classic an act of delirious derring-do, so it’s no small feat that Steven Spielberg’s carefully considered revival of West Side Story (A-) is very often a resplendent triumph. This dramatic song and dance retelling of the Romeo and Juliet story circa 1950s New York City as star-crossed lovers yearn for a safe haven amidst a concrete landscape of rival gang feuds is a veritable cauldron of social issues, and Spielberg’s frequent screenwriter Tony Kushner further modernizes and recontextualizes many of the happenings to heighten the work’s modern resonance. Spielberg’s instincts for musical sequences are impeccable, and he has in Ansel Elgort and Rachel Zegler a magnetic pair in fine voice; their immediate romantic attraction is palpable and they are both wonderful in iconic roles. Supporting characters are roundly commendable as well, especially Mike Faist and David Alvarez as the charismatic gang leaders and Ariana DeBose and Rita Moreno as supportive confidantes, the latter adding soothing resonance in the fabric of the extended WSS universe. The handsome production design and dreamlike cinematography are impressive; the dancing kinetic and the fighting muscular. Spielberg’s spellbinding mastery of the creative form is almost a character in itself; he makes clever go for broke choices and is clearly in an element he’s envisioned for decades. Ultimately the original source material is the only thing holding this enterprise back, what with the text stimulating both expectations and limitations. Spielberg’s production doesn’t completely answer the question as to why a re-telling needs to exist, but it nonetheless pulses with vitality and verve as its own singular entity. Around each street corner and sumptuous sequence, he demonstrates something’s coming indeed, something quite good.
It’s the end of the world as we know it, and many of the denizens of Adam McKay’s new satire Don’t Look Up (B+) feel strangely fine. This is the dilemma for scientists played by Leonardo DiCaprio and Jennifer Lawrence who have determined a comet is imminently headed for a collision with earth. Talk about a charged object for a blistering dark comedy! Mostly biting and sometimes too obvious in his observations, McKay presents his thesis to its logical conclusions thanks in part to a wry ensemble including Cate Blanchett as a cynical news anchor, Meryl Streep as an opportunistic U.S. president and Mark Rylance as the businessman behind the curtain who may or nay not hold a miracle cure to the planet’s extinction. Lawrence is the closest to an unblemished protagonist, and she is winning in the role. DiCaprio underplays his role a touch in order to accent his mounting spiral into desperation. Although it’s sometimes frenzied and fragmented, McKay’s epic love child of Dr. Strangelove and Network undoubtedly makes its point. Best as a commentary on the culture of the here and now, this film is intended to prod and provoke and does.
Stomp the grapes and sneak a conveyor belt bonbon, because a dishy drama about the making of “I Love Lucy” is destined to cast nostalgia in a whole new light. Aaron Sorkin’s backstage drama Being the Ricardos (B+) plumbs what life is like for performers when there’s not a live studio audience providing a laugh track of affirmation. Wielding his signature rapier wit scalpel to slice into sitcom life, the writer/director assembles a crackerjack cast to act out a week in the life of the real-life stars of TV’s “Lucy” with the amped-up quadruple pressures of a potential affair, pregnancy, Communist accusation and of course putting on a show. Nicole Kidman as Lucille Ball and Javier Bardem as Desi Arnaz are unexpectedly magnificent in their respective real-life comedy couple roles, as are J.K. Simmons as William Frawley and Nina Arianda as Vivian Vance (the latter two character actors behind the fictional “Fred” and “Ethel”). Sorkin plays his own cracking words like a maestro with characters savoring sumptuous script solos and dialogue duets which crescendo at just the right moments in the drama. Kidman shines brightest of all, showcasing the obsessions and vulnerability of an actress once discarded who gets a second chance at getting it all right, and it’s all her “Lucy” can do to keep everything afloat. Her character is a steely hero and Kidman’s work fully convincing. The film pulses most in comic and cynical asides, in its jaunty jabs at the entertainment business and its eternal truths about the qualities in loved ones capable of love and distrust in equal dollops.
Three characters grappling with divergent tenets, truths and toxins in their masculinity are central to the game of psychological violence played out on the plains of 1925 Montana in Jane Campion’s outstanding drama The Power of the Dog (A-). This ominous and symbolism-heavy slow burn is sure to satiate cinema lovers as this auteur writer/director plumbs the protective layers of ranch culture, marriage, sexuality and even man’s dominion over nature. Campion exhibits impeccable instincts as she locks in on her exacting characters’ subtleties, breaks ‘em in and then lets the plot’s pot start boiling. In her directorial hands, even braiding a lasso is replete with tension. The story is set in motion as two ranch owners gain newcomers into their prickly pack. Benedict Cumberbatch is towering as the ornery and often cruel alpha male with a bevy of complaints to chap his hide. He’s in complete command of his brash character and creates an extremely memorable performance. Jesse Plemons as his more mild-mannered brother and Kodi Smit-McPhee as a vulnerable and unconventional newcomer to the crew of cowboys each get to inhabit intriguing parts. As the primary portrait of a lady in these times, Kirsten Dunst is also exceptional if surprisingly underdeveloped as the widow and innkeeper thrust into the central family dynamics. Campion is sovereign over subtext and drops clues avid moviegoers will relish. Jonny Greenwood’s score punctuates the proceedings with spirit and suspense, and the cinematography of the American West provides a fitting canvas on which the characters clash. It’s a dramatic delight to watch predatory instincts play out including the savage gnashing of teeth, with a pulpy and palpable sense of saddle wood and sweat in the air as lost boys reckon with the decline of their civilization.
Imagine being super average in a pantheon of magical creations; yes, I’m referring to both the central character of Disney’s latest animated film as well as the movie itself. A Colombian girl faces the frustration of being the only member of her family without superpowers in Encanto (C+) co-directed by Jared Bush, Byron Howard and Charise Castro Smith. Stephanie Beatriz is the tentative voice of protagonist Mirabel; and to her defense, she does ultimately get a better showcase after a spotty first act (even her “I want” number at the film’s opening is virtually indecipherable and atonal). The breakneck animation quality and the drudgery of Lin-Manuel Miranda’s very subpar catalogue of B-sides don’t help matters as the plucky misfit pieces together a mystery causing a fission in her family’s fantastical abode. As the frosty Ambuela Alma, María Cecilia Botero gets a thankless role basically blaming the heroine for her every move; it’s quite tedious for a while and punctuated with more awkward folk hip hop. Neither John Leguizamo nor any of the sprawling cast really stand out or fare much better in the overly complex story. Then there are finally some decent emotional moments as the film reaches its crescendo, not really enough to recommend a watch.
Although it’s a true story set in medieval France during the Hundred Years War, Ridley Scott’s historical drama The Last Duel (B+) explores timeless truths about gender and power. Relative newcomer to film roles Jodie Comer turns in a phenomenal performance as a woman who is viciously assaulted and refuses to stay silent, stepping forward to accuse her attacker, an act of bravery and defiance that puts her life in jeopardy and sets the stage for the titular sanctioned death match. Matt Damon plays her often narcissistic and oblivious husband, Adam Driver a friend turned bitter rival and Ben Affleck an enabling playboy. The film is told in three Rashomon style acts, each from distinct vantage points of the husband, the attacker and the wife; and while each adds more to the mosaic mystery, the final episode of the trio is the most stunning. Scott does a good job balancing the grandeur of the opulent sets and gorgeous costume drama while still presenting the building blocks of information in a way that continues to feel fresh up to and through the film’s promised jousting climax. Some of the characters could have been even more deeply observed rather than simply functioning as allegories, but the ripe and ribald dialogue keeps the plot and its people consistently entertaining. Comer is a revelation in a role reflecting the treatment of women in the present day through a fourteenth-century lens. Scott has crafted a glorious film; quite frankly, this is the type of movie in which he most excels. And the message in the battle will stick with you long after the fight to the finish.
Is mansplaining on the marquee, or is this the ultimate tribute to a flawed father? Either way, there’s a lot to love here in a tale of an unexpected visionary. Will Smith holds court as father and tennis queen-maker Richard Williams in Reinaldo Marcus Green’s King Richard (B). Smith’s is a sterling performance in an often very good film focused much more on the man whose unconventional methods of parenting and coaching ushered in a new era of power and athleticism on the women’s professional tennis circuit than on the sisters Venus and Serena who actually played the game. The film chronicles the family straight out of Compton through Florida intensives and a variety of dramatic confrontations prior to the young women becoming global champions. Smith exhibits a full gambit of emotions as a sometimes frustrating and complicated character who prioritizes strength of character and values over the quick win, and his acting opposite powerhouse Aunjanue Ellis as his wife Oracene and with talented newcomer Saniyya Sidney as Venus provides ample dramatic fodder for all involved. Usual tough guy Jon Bernthal as happily square coach Rick Macci also sinks his teeth into the tennis tête-à-tête. The film is a bit of a circuitous journey toward ultimate uplift and eschews many of the greatest hits in the family’s journey. Still it’s a largely family-friendly triumph for representation with strong acting on display.
Those seeking truth in advertising will find very few ghosts here of note, but this sequel is quite definitely a bust. Director Jason Reitman continues the film series of two groundbreaking ‘80s special effects centric comedies helmed by his dad Ivan in the tonally muddled Ghostbusters: Afterlife (C), and this next generation entry is a spectral slog. Only the committed performances of young protagonists Mckenna Grace as Phoebe (the late Egon Spengler’s precocious granddaughter) and Logan Kim as her witty classmate Podcast plus a brief fantasia of animated mini-marshmallow men enliven the lethargic story. The film’s action moves from Manhattan to Middle America with teens who plug and play with the old wraith-warring artifacts in a momentum-free plot. Reitman builds very little atmosphere specifics, introduces few compelling apparitions and simply never finds his comedic stride despite game attempts by Paul Rudd and others. It doesn’t help that a good third of the film is a complete retread of the “Gozer” narrative from the original film. There is neither enough of a nostalgia trip nor an entertaining adventure in its own right to warrant a recommendation.
This is the ultimate “say uncle” to those who believe they can’t be moved by stories about the transformative effects of kids on adults. Cerebral, sweet and contemplative, the drama C’mon C’mon (B+) by writer/director Mike Mills sneaks up on viewers with universal truths. While a soft-spoken radio journalist (Joaquin Phoenix) travels the country to interview kids about life on earth, he also becomes temporary caretaker for his young nephew (Woody Norman) who offers the perfect foil to examine one’s station in life. At first it’s hard to penetrate the psyche or motivations of Phoenix’s numb, mumbling sad sack of a character, but the actor soon finds his way into the head of the wry cynic learning not to simply contemplate and make commentary about the world around him but to actively participate in it. He ultimately gives one of his most nuanced and lived-in performances. Norman is thoroughly convincing in some of the best child acting committed to screen. In depicting the ups and downs of even the most thoughtful children, the wise pint-sized character helps his custodian discover his inner kid but never in treacly or expected ways. It’s a master class of acting between someone on the cusp of 50 and another on the verge of 10. The episodic glimpses into surrogate parenthood are alternately fascinating and frustrating but always revelatory. Mills paints a lovely canvas on black and white with his travelogue alternating grandiose and intimate. Shots of towering NYC skyscrapers, New Orleans parades and parishes and sun-drenched pier-side promenades on the west coast lend atmospheric contrast to these little guys on a parallel coming of age journey. It’s no wonder the film evokes Chaplin’s The Kid or even Kramer vs. Kramer minus the depressing parts; it’s certainly one for the ages. The movie feels vaguely improvised in its observational style and requires a bit of patience at first but will give viewers a multitude of reasons to fall under its circuitously sentimental spell.
Although it’s a handsomely produced adult crime drama in grand Hollywood style, some inconsistent characterizations and abrupt tonal shifts hinder Ridley Scott’s House of Gucci (B) from emerging as the soapy sensation it clearly craves to be. The first hour of the fashion family saga is strongest, centered on a spunky Lady Gaga’s delicious ingenue in a whirlwind romance opposite Adam Driver as the Italian luxury label’s heir apparent, more at home in love than in leadership. Scott’s film soon becomes a different movie focused more intently on the political machinations of the Gucci family business, including mounting tension at work and at home and dramatic stakes of varying proportions, some emotions earned and others not so much. We get a phoned-in performance by Jeremy Irons and a roaring one from Al Pacino as family patriarchs, plus there’s an absolutely unhinged portrayal of the family’s crazed cousin by a virtually unrecognizable Jared Leto. Sometimes it’s hard to decipher if any of these actors feel like they are working in remotely the same universe, and yet mostly the story seems grounded in either Gaga or Driver’s point of view. The empire building is fascinating to behold and most entertaining when Gaga is on screen or when Driver’s cipher of a character discovers his agency. There are also curious choices involving time frames, accents, death scenes and other female performances for which the least said, the better. Still it’s often a crackling affair with much to recommend. Gaga’s performance as catalyst of this catwalk will be the element most remembered from this ambitious and sometimes operatic enterprise.
