There’s almost always that one person on a foreign travel excursion known for perpetually making the whole group late, constantly questioning the order of things and generally eclipsing the far-flung location with sheer force of personality. Kieran Culkin marvelously portrays such A Real Pain (B+) as one half of odd couple cousins abroad, opposite Jesse Eisenberg, who also wrote and directed the film. The gents’ mutual destination is Poland, where they trace Jewish family roots and trade barbs in an unlikely comedy set amidst a terrain of trauma. Culkin is a fabulous scene-stealer, full of bluster and usually brandishing a blunt, and Eisenberg holds his own as the uptight nebbish admiring and abhorring him in equal measure. In minor roles backing up this two-hander travelogue, Will Sharpe is solid as the group’s tour guide, and Jennifer Grey is delightful if a bit underused as an intriguing fellow traveler. In his mode as filmmaker, Eisenberg exerts incredible discipline telling the story of mismatched men on a mission while chronicling a concurrent commentary about the wry observations of traveling to painful places. Despite the novelty of most of the dramatic interactions, there is still an aching notion the film could have plumbed even deeper themes. In this artful production, subtle sentiment and amusing interactions go with the territory.
In a season of crazy conspiracies, extended delirious dancing and popular public figures melting under spotlights and scrutiny (describing not just the current political race but recent plots of Trap andThe Substance), Parker Finn’s Smile 2 (B-) mostly delivers on its gonzo premise: that life as a global music icon is akin to enduring a perpetual horror movie. All eyes are on expressive actress Naomi Scott whose central pop princess character embodies all the requisite tropes: a raving fanbase, a beloved songbook, rumors, scandal, addiction, exhaustion and the company of a questionable squad from before the fame era. Finn as writer/director poses the question: What if those crazed demonic grinning faces popularized in his surprise 2022 hit film were just par for the world tour? In the age of the trauma narrative, why can’t the final girl victim simply be tortured for most of the film’s running time? And stage moms, crazed fans, paparazzi, even product placements are all the glaring, encroaching objets de terreur. It’s all overwhelming enough to make a mere mortal feel more comfortably numb than Pink Floyd in a hotel room adorned with lots of glass coffee tables. Revisiting this franchise’s formula meant re-imagining it, and Finn’s candid camera captures an ornate and jump scare filled glam paradise. After an awesome cold open set far from the neon lights, the film’s biggest surprise is there frankly aren’t many. With full “who’s afraid of little old me” gusto, Naomi Scott magnificently chews the scenery of life on the wicked stage and conjures myriad ways to generate poses of sheer fright. Scott bears the film’s repetitive burden on her shoulders and makes it all look good in lavish costumes and with pretty authentic songs. Only some of it is actually scary. It’s all highly watchable but could have used judicious edits to be a bit more, well, swift. Still, in a world of recent auteurs adding song and dance to supercharge their fever dream sequels, Finn hits most of his marks.
Trying out different environments for size, two longtime buddies contemplate changes afoot in their lives while embarking on a revelatory journey. Josh Greenbaum’s meditative documentary Will & Harper (A) traces a 17-day westbound road trip across America via station wagon with friends comic actor Will Ferrell and Harper Steele, a 61-year-old comic writer transitioning from male to female. Thoughtful questions, thorny run-ins, poignant discussions and witty encounters mark this life-affirming chronicle as Harper tells her goofy pal no question is off limits. Scored to a jukebox of great needle drops by the likes of Simon & Garfunkel and Bon Iver with some “Wagon Wheel” and “Luck Be a Lady” tossed in for good measure, the film contemplates the notion of living lonely versus living authentically out in the world. Joyful adventures abound, ranging from riding hot air balloons over Albuquerque to standing on the edge of the Grand Canyon and the Mighty Mississippi. Acceptance comes in unexpected biker bars, just as a restaurant stopover results in a cascade of mean tweets. Ferrell, known for doing whatever it takes for comedy, tones it down to put his friend on a pedestal (several moments overwhelm him) and assembles some of their well-known Saturday Night Live collaborators for some bright cameos. The movie makes an important statement about friendship and acceptance without ever being preachy or treacly. It’s a beauty of a film.
One of the best animated features ever committed to film, The Wild Robot (A+), written and directed by Chris Sanders based on a book series by Peter Brown, is a glorious must-see movie on the theme that kindness is a survival skill. Sure it has requisite robot chases and cute talking animals to please a full spectrum of family members, but this heartwarming parable will also leave you motivated and possibly deeply moved about what can be achieved when society comes together for the common good. It’s also a testament to “being more than you’re programmed for” in terms of acting with instincts of integrity. The story centers on Roz (voice of Lupita Nyong’o), a robot shipwrecked on an uninhabited island, who goes rogue and builds relationships with local wildlife and becomes the adoptive mother of an orphaned goose, Brightbill (Kit Connor). The film deftly handles the robot’s adaptation and translation of language so she can communicate with the likes of Pedro Pascal, Catherine O’Hara and Ving Rhames as a wily fox, protective opossum and sage falcon, respectively. The film is a full-throttled beastly feast of expressive characters and expansive wilderness landscapes resembling paintings, thanks to production designer Raymond Zibach. It features a propulsive narrative against the backdrop of a memorable score by Kris Bowers and two soaring songs by Maren Morris. The film’s themes and touching tone are deeply resonant, so bring tissues as many of the sensitive sequences may prompt a watercooler waterworks, especially for parents. The voice ensemble is full of talented actors who drop great wisdom throughout the tale. It’s reassuring to see an animated movie in which all elements excel, and it surely will take its place in the pantheon of the year’s very best films.
When NBC’s SNL ushered in a new format of bawdy and topical sketch comedy nearly a half century ago, it arrived in the world via a most improbable birth. The 90 or so tense minutes leading up to the live pilot episode are the subject of Jason Reitman’s punchy, energetic ensemble dramedy Saturday Night (B+). Gabriel LaBelle masterfully plays optimistic show runner Lorne Michaels opposite an array of splendid fellow writers (a whip-smart Rachel Sennott and deadpan-droll Tommy Dewey are fantastic) and legendary on-air comedians (really solid impressionistic impersonations by Cory Michael Smith as Chevy Chase, Dylan O’Brien as Dan Aykroyd and Lamorne Morris as Garrett Morris). The movie crackles with kinetic energy as last-minute wardrobe fitting, set building, camera testing and script doctoring activities collide with the madcap antics of these delirious denizens of the famed 30 Rockefeller Plaza studio. Reitman justifiably ribs the old guard of classic TV production in the form of a smarmy executive (Willem Dafoe) and a really dickish Milton Berle (J.K. Simmons) as he curates a near real-time portrait of art and anarchy in the making. The film is consistently entertaining, even if a bit lightweight in terms of story or substance. It’s a whirling dervish energy fueled showcase of how unusual and disparate ingredients collide like fermenting hops in a creative home-brew. The film offers the thrills of artists working at the top of their game in a pressure cooker, and it’s a bright return to form for Reitman who cracks open what seems like a familiar vault and unleashes a vibe of his own. The inventive comic syncopations he puts into motion will tickle and tantalize.
It’s generally cause for distress when your enchanted pumpkin carriage or lovable Mogwai has overextended forbidden activities beyond midnight. But age-old adages about the exact time when perceived Hollywood beauty expires go into audacious overtime in the contemporary satirical body horror film The Substance (A), written, directed and co-edited with glorious gore and gusto by Coralie Fargeat. A stunning Demi Moore lunges into a memorable central performance as a driven 50-year-old TV aerobics superstar facing career decline and experimenting with a black market medical regimen billed as a fountain of youth. Margaret Qualley occupies a symbiotic doppelganger role, an object of fantasy and fury in delicate balance with the leading lady. Both actresses are incredible in their mirror-image parts on various ends of the glamor spectrum, and it’s clear from how game they are in service to Fargeat’s vision that they are pursuing their roles with zero vanity. There are jaw-dropping sequences of blood and bombast, but the film’s watershed moment involves Moore’s character at the looking-glass, hesitating in numerous bittersweet ways as she prepares for a date because she doesn’t feel pretty. Benjamin Kracun’s candy-colored cinematography and Raffertie’s explosive score complement the outstanding 29-member makeup department and Emmanuelle Youchnovski’s standout costumes. Dennis Quaid and other male characters in the film are written quite broadly, which works well as parody but generates a distancing effect to interactions. Frequent allegory paints with a thick brush over a few inconvenient plot points. The overall grotesquerie will please ardent Fangoria Magazine readers but could turn away other viewers who would savor the fresh commentary. With her singularity of vision and hypnotic, horrific stylings, Fargeat invites comparisons to Kubrick, Cronenberg and De Palma but ironically could have nipped and tucked a few impulses causing the film to wear out its welcome long after making its point. This film itself is far from a fading star!
A debilitating accident that would have banished a mere mortal to a fortress of solitude instead prompts a popular actor to soar even higher as a crusading hero in Ian Bonhote and Peter Ettedgui’s Super/Man: The Christopher Reeve Story (A-). Nearly a decade since his passing, remembered through the eyes of those who knew and loved him, this bittersweet biographical documentary presents the Superman movie actor’s highs and lows as he endeavors to stay grounded in the wake of global superstardom, to break the cycle of a fractured family and distant father and to find power and meaning in his life’s work to advance stem cell science. After an equestrian competition tumble leaves him paralyzed from the neck down, the adrenaline junkie actor turns activist and becomes the man of the masses worthy of his mythic status. Flashbacks to his film career are brief and enjoyable, but this chronicle focuses more on the final chapter of Reeve’s life. It’s also a testament to the love of his life with wife Dana in an intimate and moving portrait of resilience. The film’s format is fairly straightforward, yet a strange connective device in which apparent Kryptonite starts growing on the spine of a cosmos-floating disembodied statue of the actor is not all that fetching. Interviews with the mother of two of Reeve’s children and with his trio of offspring plus fellow thespians Glenn Close, Whoopi Goldberg, Jeff Daniels and Susan Sarandon enliven the storytelling. And appearances by Christopher’s college roommate and lifelong friend Robin Williams add to the film’s plaintive portrait of a man with steely resolve. The tale of a man who changed the planet, daily, may also challenge viewers’ superpowers of stoicism.
Just two years after the disturbing Danish horror film of the same name, a twisty and much more broadly comic 2024 American remake of Speak No Evil (B-) provides a highly watchable cautionary tale about two families who become friends on vacation and discover an altogether different relationship when they reunite on one couple’s home turf. James Watkins adapts the story from the austere foreign language template and directs this new version with gusto, offering a witty waltz through modern mores in which tensions rise on the grounds of a remote farmhouse. James McAvoy is the larger than life standout of the story as a burly alpha male who looks like he wandered off the set of a Brawny commercial. The actor relishes the wily role and brings a smoldering menace to the tale, dialing up the gamesmanship until the film’s flimsy final act. Scoot McNairy is effective in a thankless part as the wimpy, reticent foil, and Mackenzie Davis is far more interesting and nuanced as his sometimes steely spouse. The film is less an exercise in terror than a mash-up of comedy of manners conventions and home invasion conceits. The child actors land some intriguing moments in their own right as the fractured families realize their escalating riffs until all are rendered mute. The plot gets far-fetched and careens deeply into high camp, devolving from competent paranoid thriller into a “throw everything including the kitchen sink” showdown. All the while, McAvoy makes his mark, including some witty role play in a restaurant and crooning ballads of ’80s pop songstresses. If you like watching awkwardness get amplified, see this flick in a packed theatre and expect a surround sound of bewildered reactions at many characters’ bad decisions. It’ll have you at “oh, hell no.”
Our human protagonist embarks on a “too good to be true” mission in a film that is often stylistically a good bit better than one would expect. 2024’s Alien: Romulus (B+) directed and co-written by Fede Alvarez, is the seventh installment in the long-running series as well as an “interquel” set between the events of the 1979 Ridley Scott original and the James Cameron 1986 sequel. In this film, a group of young space colonists scavenging a dilapidated space station confront one of the most terrifying life forms in the universe. Fascinating actress Cailee Spaeny is the head and shoulders standout in an otherwise unremarkable ensemble, and the dialogue isn’t going to win any awards; but the production design, spectacle and action sequences are all dynamite. Alvarez definitely makes his distinctive mark with a top-tier entry in the saga, buoyed by sinister cinematography courtesy of Galo Olivares, nimble editing by Jake Roberts and gripping orchestral music by Benjamin Wallfisch. As far as the film’s twisty plot points, there’s enough toxic masculinity and planned parenthood to fuel a national political campaign. There aren’t a lot of wasted shots once the action fully whips itself into an interstellar frenzy; then it’s almost too much of a good thing with a barrage of impressive stunts and sensational chases. This movie offers an entertaining thrill ride with plenty to enjoy for fans of the franchise.
The show must go on for maximum security prisoners participating in a rehabilitative theatre troupe in Greg Kwedar’s tenderly humane and moving real-life drama Sing Sing (A). Colman Domingo marvelously anchors the story as a long-time inmate on the verge of a clemency hearing who has become the central journeyman performer in an acting class coached by a character wonderfully played by Paul Raci. Sean San Jose is also splendid as one of the central prisoners, and many such as Clarence “Divine Eye” Maclin brilliantly play their true-life selves. Kwedar has a real eye for the humanity of the characters without ever overly sliding into sentiment, and there are funny touches in the original work the men rehearse and present (their populist work includes characters ranging from Hamlet to Freddy Krueger). Bryce Dessner’s cerebral music offers a wistful, delicate accompaniment to the story. Domingo steals the show with a feast of a performance, and the whole ensemble shines with poignancy and panache. It’s a remarkable tale encouraging viewers to rethink perspectives and engage differently with men who may not have otherwise gotten their second act of redemption. It’s a fantastic entry on the 2024 film festival circuit certainly en route to Oscar glory.
Director Greg Kwedar describes the film to Silver Screen Capture on the red carpet of closing night at the Atlanta Film Festival 2024:
In the service of a more mature and madcap Marvel installment, Disney has cracked open its most violent and vulgar vaults to unleash a buddy comedy adventure with its own crass love language. The mouse is definitely out of the house with superkillafragilistic, zipadeedickjokes, hakunayomama abandon. Except for over-staying its welcome by a short hair, Shawn Levy’s Deadpool & Wolverine (A-) is an absolute laugh machine throughout with a singularly sensational “meta”-morphosis of the superhero form. If there were a fifth and sixth wall to break, consider them toppled. The plot involves snarky mercenary Deadpool (a series best performance by riotously funny Ryan Reynolds) recruited to safeguard the multiverse by uniting with his would-be pal Wolverine (Hugh Jackman, in great stoic form for action and comedy) to save the world from an existential threat and villain (Emma Corrin at the height of her powers). Despite their outward swagger, both titular costumed crusaders must overcome a crisis of confidence, and it’s in their tentativeness and vulnerability that many of the film’s most delicious zingers and gags are born. It helps to know comic book, movie studio and pop cultural lore to fully follow some of the funniest and most subversive laugh lines. The stunts and action choreography are top-notch with excellent needle drops and kick-ass sass rivaling the first film in the series. The film outwardly acknowledges past Disney/Fox rivalries and casting incongruities, and it remedies some of the vexing variances in clever and convincing ways. Expect some stale conventions to get upended and some new directions for the franchise to come of age based on this fierce installment.
Plan to get sucked up, whisked away and a bit wonderstruck by an utterly crowd-pleasing entry into this summer’s multiplex fare. Lee Isaac Chung’s 2024 action film Twisters (A), ostensibly a standalone sequel to the 1996 tornado disaster flick, is both practically and metaphorically about Americans coming together to weather the storm. Daisy Edgar-Jones and Glen Powell, both magnificent in their physical and emotional roles, play very different leaders of chaser teams with divergent goals converged in the heartland of Oklahoma. The film’s humane exploration of characters ranging from a committed entrepreneur played by Anthony Ramos to a wily mom portrayed by Maura Tierney help the film transcend its deceivingly simple storytelling contours. The movie’s visual and sound effects are superb, peppering realistic rural landscapes and quaint hometowns with impressive funnel fantasia. Chung’s film deftly asks viewers to re-examine how neighbors should treat one another, elevates the pursuit of science and philanthropy into central themes and doesn’t waste a moment of its running time with anything short of human or natural revelation. With a backdrop of Benjamin Wallfisch’s gripping score and rip-roaring country music needle drops, this observant and opulent film gorgeously fills the screen all the way through a very exciting finale including meta homage to the ritual of gathering for entertainment. This is a wonderful companion piece to Jordan Peele’s Nope, another smart reflection on spectacle by an American auteur. Expect to be pleasantly surprised by this well assembled action epic.
