The central couple of Trần Anh Hùng’s The Taste of Things (aka La Passion de Dodin Bouffant) (B-) finds their best way of communicating to one another is through gourmet cooking, and this French film is a series of gastronomic love letters between Benoît Magimel and Juliette Binoche. Call it Culinary Paradiso. The film is notable for its gorgeously lensed sequences of creation in the kitchen, as the lovers make sumptuous entrees, soups and desserts for one another. You may leave craving quail or Baked Alaska. The central characters are a bit elusive, but it’s nonetheless a joy to see them cooking. Ensemble characters seen at dinner parties or sampling dishes before they are served are undercooked in the screenplay, with much of the film a two-hander. Ironically the film doesn’t always set the table stakes for the payoff it purports to conjure up; it’s sometimes an empty soufflé. Go for the gorgeous stovetop stylings and stay for a few nice insights about feeding a relationship.
The North Shore High School Mathletes would ace this calculation: one update of a two decade old film comedy plus one translation of its stage musical adaptation equals only a fraction of the property’s legacy entertainment value. The 2024 musical version of Mean Girls (C+), co-directed by Samantha Jayne and Arturo Perez Jr., succeeds in delivering dollops of nostalgia and a star-is-born villain performance by Reneé Rapp as the pink terror Regina George. As a musical, though, it’s inconsistent, with the filmmakers framing production numbers awkwardly before finding their groove. Songs happen in this high school musical because characters are filming themselves on their phone or because they’re adjacent to the marching band practice room or because they’re fantasizing or because they’re describing something absurd; there are few connective threads holding all this together as an actual movie musical. It doesn’t help that the new-to-school protagonist played lowkey by Angourie Rice doesn’t get an “I want” moment and little time to establish herself before smitten with the guy in calculus class (a natural Christopher Briney) or lured in by the clique called The Plastics. Auliʻi Cravalho and Jaquel Spivey are a hoot and in great voice as the heroine’s genuine friends; reprising roles from the 2004 film, Tina Fey and Tim Meadows make very little impression. There’s some awkward choreography of students behaving like African animals; like a breeze from Poomba, it swiftly clears the savanna of laughs or charm. Rapp’s vampy antihero has the most fun in her role, and there are some creative montages leveraging social media to amplify the antics. For those who loved the original film or want to revisit its sly psychology put to music, there’s some fun to be had here. But it’s largely a missed opportunity twenty years later to say something new or differently about its themes of girls trying to treat each other better to the next generation.
Just as moviegoers are debating whether the recent film title Maestro refers to its male or female lead, I can reasonably proclaim Michael Mann’s Ferrari (B-) refers to Laura Ferrari played by Penélope Cruz who absolutely steals the show from the film’s intended subject, her character’s husband and the mastermind behind the iconic sports car company Enzo Ferrari played by Adam Driver. Cruz is absolutely magnetic as a business partner, grieving mother and jilted wife who dominates the film’s most powerful sequences. She shows up with a gun in a grand entrance and is number one with a bullet every time she’s on screen. Driver is good too and rather fantastic in some signature speeches, but Cruz gives a performance for the ages. It’s one thing to be eclipsed by Cruz’s tour de force; and it’s another thing altogether to be the miscast Shailene Woodley in a thankless and oddly accented role as Enzo’s mistress Lina Lardi. Surprisingly, racing sequences are few and far between as a Godfather style historic melodrama takes center stage, sometimes reaching intended operatic heights but other times meandering a bit. The film is best when a study of contrasts – between spouses, balancing relationships and love, navigating public and private life in Italy, and experiencing the thrill and terror of racing itself in the med-twentieth century. The story of a man’s two families, his battle against the tyranny of time itself, his tragic familial and wartime losses and his unswerving eye on impeccable design and victory is satisfying and often quite absorbing. The sequences on the race track are well done too and filmed from cinematic perspectives rarely captured, but everything that’s not Cruz in the film is simply second fiddle. Another familiar face in the cast is Patrick Dempsey as driver Piero Taruffi; it would have been nice to explore more about the men behind the wheel or even a fairly formative incident merely referenced in the post-script. Mann doesn’t fully summon or realize his thesis here, but the parts that work in the film hum with precision.
Traditional disaster movies can veer toward the exploitive or sensational, but if anyone was up for the challenge of thoughtfully dramatizing the 1972 Andean mountain range plane crash in which only a third of those aboard survive (formerly told in 1993’s Alive), it’s the skilled director of the tsunami thrillerThe Impossible, J.A. Bayona. His Society of the Snow (aka La sociedad de la nieve) (B+) is grueling and rewarding, crafted with epic filmmaking skill and an ample running time and showcasing a stirring spiritual side to the story of resilience. Those stranded by the downed plane have various conflicting perspectives about how to handle their struggle, which escalates as they face hunger, avalanche and much more. Told with desaturated colors and realistic sound mixing against a formidable icy landscape, it’s a profound and immersive work. The film’s Uruguayan and Argentine cast members, most of whom are newcomers, include talented actors Agustín Pardella, Matías Recalt, Fernando Contigiani García and Enzo Vogrincic Roldán as rugby teammates who take on key roles to overcome their dire situation. Visual effects supervisor Laura Pedro and cinematographer Pedro Luque do wonderful work to depict muscular action and wilderness survival against a rugged, stark setting as we watch the characters waste away while keeping inventive options open. The film also honors those who were lost in the tragedy with poignant visual overlays to Michael Giacchino’s evocative music. As survivors become one another’s best hope and face moral questions and rare moments of levity, Bayona creates a gripping drama and demonstrates why the story is so worthy of telling.
The protagonist Adam superbly played by Andrew Scott has some unfinished emotional business to reckon with in Andrew Haigh’s intimate, immersive dramatic fantasy All of Us Strangers (B+). The hero’s journey involves a new romantic partner in the form of Paul Mescal and an interlocking plot in which Adam’s parents (Claire Foy and Jamie Bell) come back into his life despite having perished in a car crash three decades earlier. Given the intricacy of the film’s structure and the cerebral presentation of an unlikely premise, Haigh guides his characters masterfully with a transfixing wisdom and wistfulness. The film’s bending of time and space works so effectively because Scott keeps viewers so grounded in his emotional arch; he delivers a quietly revelatory performance. Mescal continues his streak of interesting indie roles with a strong portrayal of a character just out of reach. And Foy and Bell are wonderful as the flawed but fabulous couple who get to tie up some loose ends with the adult son they never knew. The film is a talky tearjerker that ponders some big issues including loneliness and abandonment and is sure to provide tender recognition to those who have lost loved ones. Haigh continues to traverse unexplored territory about gay characters and doesn’t serve up easy answers; he blazes new emotional and filmmaking landscapes. From its effective use of evocative pop music to its stunning close-ups of interlocking characters thrust into unexpected disclosures, the film is a lovely discovery and a must-see for cinephiles.
There’s very little resisting Alice Walker’s most iconic work in any of its forms: the 1982 Pulitzer Prize-winning novel, the 1985 Oscar-nominated movie, the elaborate Broadway 2005 musical stage show or its even more acclaimed stripped-down 2015 revival. So don your lavender, orchid, magenta and violet hues and grab your best friends to enjoy another inspiring telling of this ode to sisterhood in a crowd-pleasing auditorium. Nobody ever told Shakespeare he’s been interpreted too much. Director Blitz Bazawule’s 2023 film adaptation of the book-turned-musical The Color Purple (B) does show some signs of wear, despite some jubilant applause-worthy moments. His fresh lens on the tale gets a little lost in translation as he tries to plumb the depths of the sharply drawn characters while giving them their due as singers too. For those just hopping on the bandwagon, the story traces forty years in the life of Miss Celie (Fantasia Barrino) who is torn from her sister and children in the rural South in the early 1900s and faces hardships including an abusive husband “Mister” (Colman Domingo). With support from a sultry singer named Shug (Taraji P. Henson) and her stand-her-ground stepdaughter Sofia (Danielle Brooks), Celie ultimately finds extraordinary strength in the unbreakable bonds of a new kind of female empowerment. This new production includes three iconic and melodic moments of sonic uplift so potent and a final reel so tearjerking and triumphant viewers may forget the film’s sluggish start. Bazawule reveals his exposition a bit too much like a “greatest hits” for those who know the story rather than discovering it fresh as the characters would experience it. He also doesn’t land exactly how to effectively execute the musical numbers – are they real or fantasy? lived-in or larger than life? – until he hits the stride of barnburners “Hell No,” “Push Da Button,” and “I’m Here.” This re-imagining is handsomely photographed, poignantly acted and has a stirring finale. Barrino is so good in the final reel that one might wish she was extended more of a showcase early on in the film. This new Purple is recommended for the timeless story, the strength of the ensemble and bursts of greatness that blossom just when you need something beautiful to savor.
Expect an everlasting gobstopper of a smile on your face as the greatest showman of the chocolate-loving world headlines a delightful new origin story. Paul King’s musical fantasy family feature Wonka (B+) stars Timothee Chalamet as the titular confectioner who arrives in Europe to realize his dream of opening a candy shop but finds himself choc-blocked by a series of rivals. Chalamet is absolutely enchanting, summoning his theatre kid charms to embody a crooning, inventive optimist, not yet cynical to the ways of the world or banishing anyone to the fudge room. Partnered with the fabulous young actress Calah Lane in a series of adventures, they gracefully spark imagination and engage in deft wordplay. The whole ensemble is a hoot, including Olivia Colman as a wicked innkeeper, Rowan Atkinson as a priest with a sweet tooth and Hugh Grant as a surly Oompa-Loompa. King’s whimsical palette and maximalist production design sets the stage for fabulous surprises and sly humor around every corner; and Jody Talbot and Neil Hannon (frontman of Irish band Divine Comedy) bring uplift in the form of old-fashioned Broadway-style songs. When the plot shifts into all-out heist mode for a while, it’s a little less interesting; but like a string of taffy, Timmy springs it right back into sentimental health. This is definitely the non-ironic family feature of the year with just enough bite to keep everybody satisfied.
Wrapped in the ring-slinging theatrics of the wrestling world in its heyday, Sean Durkin’s biographical sports drama The Iron Claw (B) is ultimately a moving meditation on brotherhood. Chronicling the true story of the Von Erich family wrestlers, all bred to be polite, strong warriors by their domineering father (a fierce performance by Holt McCallany), an ensemble including the very committed troupe of Zac Efron, Jeremy Allen White and Harris Dickinson experiences the highs and lows of the dangerous sport. Efron gets maximum screen time and, aside from his brotherly bonding, is most engaging opposite Lily James as the woman who tries to draw him out of his single-minded shell. The movie never rises to heights of astonishing creativity or breakthrough filmmaking craft, but you will believe in the hard-scrabble tale of this family, and Durkin extracts earned emotional beats out of the brothers’ cursed existence. As the film depicts small-town Texas origins colliding with the hefty machinations of a federation in the making, those who have grown up watching this particular form of glam-macho entertainment will find its story engaging and its happenings nostalgic. Credit Efron in particular for drawing audiences into a tale of hometown boys lured into a larger than life scenario, reminiscent of tragic tales like The Outsiders or Boogie Nights. Even though the actors are ostensibly faking it, you will see their reality clearly.
There’s a lived-in performance at the center of Bradley Cooper’s latest opus about a troubled artist, even if the film’s construction doesn’t capture its subject quite as closely or precisely as the moviemakers would like to think they do. Cooper stars in and directs Maestro (B-), a quasi-biopic about the complicated composer Leonard Bernstein, especially seen through the lens of the heterosexual love of his life and mother of his children, Costa Rican TV actress Felicia Montealegre, played with grace and charm by Carey Mulligan. The film toggles between black and white and color largely to match the chronology of its time periods, with magical monochrome origins giving way to a more murky, rusty “Hollywood in the 70s” aesthetic. The two central actors are superb, but their soapy plot and tragic trajectories don’t reveal much about them as artists. The humanity of how they bond when the stakes are highest makes for some of the most affecting sequences. The film will largely be remembered for the intimacy of several loving conversations and one bombastic sequence of the master musician conducting. Otherwise it’s caught in a kind of middle ground with impressive performances at not much service of a theme.
The premise that a frumpy professor portrayed by Nicolas Cage is inexplicably invading the dreams of people everywhere is an excellent jumping-off point for a film of mostly successful big swings that also functions as a surprising wake-up call about profound societal issues. Cage is effective as a prickly protagonist whose pride gets the best of him when he finds himself an unwitting interloper in others’ consciousness in Kristoffer Borgli’s brainy comedy Dream Scenario (B). A committed Cage gets solid ensemble support from the talented Julianne Nicholson as his profoundly observant wife and from hilarious Michael Cera as cynical consultant to the big man on hippocampus. Borgli creates an uneasy sense of dread throughout the movie dotted with droll observations and fun bits of physical comedy. The story plumbs topics ranging from cancel culture wars to the subversive effects of modern propaganda. Alas third act problems break the film’s stride; it’s like a two-part anthology with most of it a masterpiece followed by a mild misfire of a coda. The movie is best in its quiet moments as we watch Cage embrace the fantasy. There’s a lot to enjoy in entertaining the thought.
In a cinematic year filled with logline leftovers based on Air Jordan sneakers, Blackberry devices and Flamin’ Hot Cheetos, moviegoers can express guilty pleasure and gratitude for a film adapted from its own Grindhouse mock trailer. Expect to preview coming attractions for a surefire franchise-in-the-making because Eli Roth’s latest scrappy, schlocky and overstuffed horror movie is certain to become a perennial feast: this first Thanksgiving (B-) film with a Final Girl delivers a multi-course cornucopia of clever kills. The movie’s cold open foists viewers into the mayhem and satirical delirium of a Black Friday sale riot that ends in a bargain-hunting bloodbath; a year later, in a related revenge storyline, a sextet of precocious Plymouth Rock teenagers try to avert a mysterious serial killer intent on creating a carving board of the Massachusetts town’s denizens. Nell Verlaque is a bright and nuanced lead actress supported by an ensemble of familiar faces such as Patrick Dempsey (yikes, that terrible Boston accent!) and Gina Gershon (mercifully muted) in supporting roles. The film is exactly as advertised – a Scream-style thriller mystery festooned in harvest season accoutrements, from pitchforks to parades. In the film genre of splatter films set on gory days, this is much more mid-tier slasher à la Happy Birthday to Me than rising to Halloween masterpiece levels. The story contains genuine jump scares, grisly murders of the bloody disgusting variety and ribald belly laughs. The film’s veritable turkey trot of graphic violence is so mercilessly cartoonish, it makes Cocaine Bear look downright avant garde. There’s an inspired moment when the heroine hides from the masked “John Carver” among mannequin heads in a beauty school classroom and employs hairspray as impromptu mace. Roth paces the film with finesse and fury and continually raises the stakes; he never mistakenly confuses his film with high art. Sure some elements are undercooked, but it’s ultimately a cavalcade of communal gasps. Buckle up, pilgrims, for high-camp, high-stakes, horned-up plenty.
