The song “Unwritten” by Natasha Bedingfield plays a supporting sonic part in Will Gluck’s romantic comedy Anything But You (C), which is fitting as the film feels so unwritten one might be surprised to find it wasn’t actually authored by AI. The two leads, Bea (Sydney Sweeney) and Ben (Glen Powell), despise one another and are stuck on a destination wedding holiday together in Sydney, Australia where they have to “fake it till they make it” to keep the peace. Occasional spurts of amusing physical comedy plus exasperating shifts in motivation keep the proceedings consistently uneven. After watching the movie, I read it was based on Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing (oh, Beatrice and Benedick and lots of overheard conversations!), which makes the lack of creativity in the formulaic, circuitous script even more dumbfounding. But the real feature here is the preternaturally attractive and charming lead couple at the heart of the movie; both give their all – bronze bodies, snappy come-ons and comebacks – to propel the paltry plot. Otherwise the film wastes both rom-com veterans such as Dermot Mulroney and Rachel Griffiths as well as its exotic port of call; there’s a scene in which hikers look over what’s supposed to be a gorgeous view of a valley, but it’s a quite unremarkable view of basic treetops. Because somehow, despite their unmotivated actions, we still find ourselves rooting for Sweeney and Powell; and the movie gets a little better, a little more loose and limber, toward the end. It’s all a bit of a voyeuristic dirty window into a charismatic screen couple in need of better agents.
If Swedish film Thank You, I’m Sorry (C+) can be considered a comedy, it’s certainly dry with a layer of bleakness. There are plenty of heartwarming moments as we follow Sara (Sanna Sundqivist) navigate the death of her husband along with the new integration of her estranged sister Linda (Charlotta Bjork). Being in the late stages of pregnancy along with a 5-year-old son, she quickly realizes although reluctantly that her future endeavors can’t be undertaken alone. Sara’s bitterness and flat almost emotionless tone is a center point of the conflict between all characters; her projection on each one of them as she attempts to give harsh advice only serves to reveal her own insecurities as well as qualms with her overarching life path. Linda and Sara have had minimal interaction since childhood considering Linda’s decision to live with her father following the divorce of their parents, which leaves Sara harboring resentment towards both her abusive alcoholic father and also towards her sister who merely seems to want to assist and reconnect with her. Along with a mother-in-law who is constantly attempting to interject with psychological analyses, Sara slowly begins to open to these individuals that merely want to assist with her grieving process and pregnancy. By the time the end credits roll, viewers may see the importance of letting go of one’s resentment and accepting the benevolent assistance offered in the face of one’s own pride.
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.
Prepare to be charmed and alarmed. Poor Things (C+), the Victorian steampunk comic fable by Yorgos Lanthimos, connects on a very specific polarizing wavelength. Emma Stone plays a deceased and withchild young woman re-animated to life with the sensitivities of her adult body and the newly activated brain of her unborn child fusing and allowing her to explore the world anew with abject wonder. With equal parts daffy comedy and utter creepiness, Willem Dafoe portrays the mad scientist responsible for the protagonist’s rebirth; and Ramy Youssef and Mark Ruffalo are among the hapless male suitors attempting to make sense of the feral femme. The movie wants to be audacious and sublimely feminist and thumb its nose at prudishness, but its bizarre comic tone keeps viewers at a veiled distance. An overlong passage in which the film’s heroine chooses to become a prostitute seems to undercut the film’s thesis of absolute freedom. Stone’s specific mannerisms and many of her wry observations are memorable, but a little of this outlandish content goes a long way. Lanthimos fashions a creative universe with many quirky ports of call but too often sets his characters adrift into unsavory discoveries. Many viewers will undoubtedly be smitten with the originality of this comic curiosity, but the atonal strings music and frequent sequences seen through a fisheye lens promise to give this critic post-traumatic stress.
Nearly three decades ago, Robert Altman’s poison pen dark comedy The Player decimated the notion of authentic Hollywood endings in which characters get what they deserve. Building on this grand meta tradition, writer/director Cord Jefferson’s subversive comedy American Fiction (B+) confronts the relationship between contemporary Black authors, their fraught notions of cultural representation in modern culture and the preposterous prism of white guilt placing unrealistic limits about how far the writers can go to transcend stereotypes. The high-concept plot in which the sanctimonious hero harbors a criminal alter ego and fictional characters “from the hood” sometimes spring to life from his mind into his writing room largely serves its purpose even if it sometimes leaves its protagonist pretzeled into remaining believable within the story’s constraints. In a brilliant performance of nuance and subtle physicality, Jeffrey Wright portrays an idealistic novelist fed up with establishment industries profiting from “Black entertainment” that relies on tired and offensive tropes. Under a pseudonym, he writes an urban opus of his own to showcase the heights of hypocrisy in the publishing world, and his character grapples with a series of results both profound and outlandish. The best sequence pits Wright and the talented Issa Rae in one-on-one repartee about “selling out” that speaks volumes; tellingly it’s the film’s one discussion about art with the spotlight exclusively on two minorities. Sterling K. Brown and Leslie Uggams are among the standouts in the wonderful ensemble, adding heft to the family drama surrounding the lead character’s literary conundrum. Their domestic ups and downs wouldn’t ever get the greenlight without the high-concept surrounding them, posits the filmmaker. The razor-sharp daggers pointed at material designed to be “Oscar bait” coupled with depiction of critics looking to applaud avant-garde authorship deliver ample episodes of cringeworthy comedy, and it’s all imminently watchable, entertaining and insightful. With Wright as the magnetic anchor for the pointed parody, Jefferson delightfully pulls off one of the most memorable movies of the year.
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.
Making a comic film with perpetual double dares to its audience to not be shocked by its master-crass of gags is a delicate art, and these filmmakers are too loosey goosey in their dirty ditty-filled romp to consistently nail their themes or targets. Director Larry Charles delivers the mixed bag of Dicks: The Musical (C) based on work by Aaron Jackson and Josh Sharp who reprise off-Broadway roles as sort-of adult identical twins who meet through business and try, Parent Trap style, to cajole their single parents, played by Megan Mullally (funny but with a ridiculous accent) and Nathan Lane (funny but not much to do here), into one big happy reunited family. A sassy Bowen Yang is fine as the wry omniscient narrator, but Megan Thee Stallion is the sublime surprise as the corporate boss with a women-rule-the-world song for the ages in one of the few sequences fully realized (gay clubs will have this on loop for eternity). There are also some creative puppets standing in as allegories and private parts amidst a bunch of hit or miss songs. The costumes, choreography and production design are generally a hoot, but the scattershot story rarely gets liftoff and the takeaways from the twisted morality tale are murky at best. The South Park movie and Book of Mormon stage show were much more successful in the mature musical milieu. As actors and writers, Jackson and Sharp seem to be laughing their way through the whole enterprise, but they’ve only reached a semi.
If Halloween and Back to the Future had a love child, it would be Nahnatchka Khan’s Totally Killer (C+); and in terms of radical surprises, this comic horror movie has very few flux (capacitors) to give. The contemporary teen protagonist, played by a funny deadpan Kiernan Shipka, must go back in time to the 1980s to avert a killing spree affecting her loved ones. Olivia Holt is effective as the heroine’s teenage version of her mother, and Julie Bowen is entertaining as mom in the modern day. There are some clever time travel conceits, nifty needle drops and funny asides about what passed for acceptable a generation or two ago, but there’s not quite enough here – including few scares – to warrant a strong recommendation. The “Sweet Sixteen” murderer clad in a Max Headroom style mask won’t likely enter the pantheon of killer classics, but the acting skills of Shipka portend more opportunities for uncanny comedy ahead.
Packing for Molly Gordon and Nick Lieberman’s vision of Theater Camp (B) may involve contraband supplies such as throat coat (for maintaining those satin vocals) or the occasional tear stick (because crying on cue takes real range), but mostly the characters in this mockumentary come equipped for the summer with dry wit. Fresh from this year’s Sundance Film Festival, this comic lark written by the co-directors along with actors Ben Platt and Noah Galvin, showcases faculty and budding performers at the fictional New York State ”AdirondACTS” sleep-away camp. After the program’s indomitable founder (Amy Sedaris) falls into a coma, her clueless “crypto bro” son (Jimmy Tatro) is tasked with keeping the thespian enclave solvent while long-suffering teachers played by Platt and Gordon (both believable in their bickering) endeavor to ensure the end-of-summer musical show must go on. There are some fantastic quips and acts of acerbic comedy, largely featuring Tatro’s character’s basic misunderstanding of the theatre kids. Galvin shines when explaining the rituals of the bohemian Rent kids versus the finger-snapping Fosse friends. Ayo Edebiri is also a supporting VIP as a counselor who lied on her resume but still has to muster up classes on mask theory and fight choreography. There are plenty of sassy sight gags, biting observations and creative asides to reward those who work in the performing arts milieu; tricking kids into being restaurant servers by convincing them it’s an exercise in immersive theater is one of the standout sequences. Other times the tone is too slight to have much bite. The saggy middle act rallies in the finale though, when a show-within-a-show comes brilliantly together. The movie’s creators are clearly caught up in the craft, and it’s all just campy enough to yield a few bonfires of hilarity.
Writer/director Greta Gerwig isn’t done with plumbing the psychology of little women, setting the sly subject of her brilliantly subversive new work as a personified plaything who’s awakening into the reality of contemporary life. The witty auteur has crafted a loving tribute to those who create, those who play and those who simply grind into the trials of daily life in the eccentric, existential and exuberant Barbie (A). Packing everything she can about the highs, lows, choices and challenges of womanhood into an efficient fish out of water comedy, Gerwig fashions a droll and dreamy doll’s house, a mythology in miniature and a cultural touchpoint that’s so much more than its pristine plastic surface might promise. Much credit goes to graceful physical comedienne Margot Robbie as the title protagonist, discovering empowerment and empathy with support from a mighty female ecosystem. America Ferrera and Rhea Perlman are formidable standouts in the cast who instill wonder and wisdom along Barbie’s journey of self-actualization. As comic relief and a character gaining an agency of his own kind, Ryan Gosling is a hoot as Ken; he’s certainly the source of some of the greatest belly laughs evoked from a character with washboard abs. The production design, costumes and music are exquisite in this candy-colored universe made even more bountiful by the words of Gerwig and Noah Baumbach’s observational and deeply meta screenplay. It’s a testament to Gerwig’s love of her subject that she can get away with in-jokes at the expense of her Mattel producers and evoke both nostalgia and a forward-looking vision all at once. The emotional undercurrent of the protagonist’s growing awareness about how the world works is something few will see coming; the sentiment is real and earned. This brainy modern classic is more than meets the eyes and will be studied for years to come.
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Adapted by Adrian Tomine from his own graphic novel and directed by first-time filmmaker Randall Park, the Sundance comedy-drama Shortcomings (B+) is an enjoyable contemporary take on being a young Asian-American male in American society. The story’s moody protagonist, an underemployed movie theatre manager and lousy boyfriend, is winningly played by Justin H. Min. His lesbian best friend portrayed by Sherry Cola is an absolute hoot and always knows just what to say. Ally Maki is also memorable as the hero’s polar opposite; the whole ensemble enjoys time in the spotlight. The cross-country, cross-cultural story transports viewers from Berkeley to New York City with wryly observant misadventures. Park plumbs heritage and hot takes for a film that feels like it’s not trying all that hard and yet still it says so much about its subjects. It’s genuinely funny and also moving at times. Expect this one to be a cult hit, a kind of Reality Bites for modern times.
The brazen style and balls-out swagger of Emma Seligman’s Bottoms (C) earns the surreal comedy about marginalized young people some nifty novelty points, but the freshness of this brisk tale of two high school lesbians (Rachel Sennott and Ayo Edebiri) who set up a fight club as a guise to hook up with the popular cheerleaders wears off lickety-split. The compelling central duo at the film’s center certainly wins some deserved laughs with droll, deadpan and raunchy dialogue as well as heartfelt empathy, milking all they can from the outrageous premise and their characters’ plights. Havana Rose Liu and Kaia Gerber also bring spirit to the enterprise as would-be paramours, as do Nicholas Galitzine as an absurdist jock archetype and Marshawn Lynch as an aloof teacher who becomes an unwitting club sponsor. The rules of the film’s arch universe are loosely defined and keep viewers at bay from fully immersing. Although billed as a satire, the send-up doesn’t necessarily hit its targets with consistency, which is disappointing with as many topical issues to plumb. This one-note dark comedy wants to be Heathers or even But I’m a Cheerleader and doesn’t quite get there.
