The square-jawed protagonist of a new Yuletide actioner is equal parts dubious and daring, and he’s definitely in danger. Director Jaume Collet-Serra’s Carry-On (B-) puts substantial decision-making on the shoulders of a humble LAX TSA agent played with aplomb by Taron Egerton, whose character is mid at adulting even as his pregnant girlfriend (Sofia Carson) shares he’s on the brink of zaddy-hood. But when an earpiece emitting the somber, sinister and sus voice of Jason Bateman comes through the conveyor belt tray with very specific instructions, it’s Nick of Time slash Die Harder vibes for our reluctant hero rizzing to the occasion to outwit terrorists commandeering a prominent plane on a Christmas Eve crash course with destiny. Meanwhile in what at first occupies a completely distinct tonal universe, Danielle Deadwyler is doing the most as the LAPD agent connecting a series of homeland homicides with the action afoot at the airport. Things get more interesting when hunty gets stunty. The film flashes some creative communications and surveillance graphics and waves some wondrous wands once the plot finally progresses into full cat and mouse-dom. It’s familiar stuff, to be sure, and it’s not quite as funny or fleet of foot as Egerton’s committed central everyman performance or American accent. It also feels Bateman’s screen time is so slight, he may as well have been contracted via Cameo for his flash of a part. Overall, expect a slightly better than average good time out of this thriller with just enough EQ in the eggnoggin to please those gathered for the holidays.
The least interesting thing about famed opera singer Maria Callis is finding her usually wondrous soprano voice cracking and croaking during her final days living in 1970s Paris, and yet that’s exactly what Pablo Larrain chooses to dramatize in his impressionistic biography Maria (C). Angelina Jolie plays the Greek diva-as-artist as the film chronicles the temperamental behavior of her late career and flashes back to her tepid love affair with Aristotle Onassis, played charisma-free by Haluk Bilginer. Just like an opera, this psychological drama is structured in acts and culminates in tragedy. Larrain photographs the stately Jolie like she’s fresh out of a spring magazine shoot, but the glum persona she embodies is far from inspiring, despite her devotion to the role. And the lip syncing, even with multi-track blending, just doesn’t do the trick. Few actors in the ensemble including Kodi Smit-McPhee as a journalist make much of an impression, leaving Jolie in various poses within baroque rooms to sleep or stand and model. The third in Larrain’s film trilogy of important 20th century women in levels of distress (following Jackie and Spencer), this one is a considerable let-down, mainly mired in pathos with only a few arch lines to stir the soul.
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.
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.
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.
Jonás Cuarón’s Chupa (C+) wastes no time jumping right into the action; and while there may not be much here to captivate someone above the age of ten, there’s still plenty of fun to be had with this Netflix original. Cuarón manages to turn a piece of Mexican folklore into a cute creature feature fallowing Alex (Evan Whitten), a kid from the U.S. who visits his grandfather (Demián Bichir) in Mexico for spring break. Alex initially doesn’t show much interest in his familial heritage; but along his journey, through discovering his father and grandfather were luchadores, and by making friends with a cuddly Chupacabra cub, our protagonist is launched into a whimsical adventure. The hero endeavors to dramatically dodge a researcher (Christian Slater) wanting to capture his new friend while also braving personal trials related to connecting with Latino culture. The lead creature is certainly the main attraction, stealing attention from anyone else on screen. Cuarón succeeds in making Chupa believable, leveraging a canine stand-in to allow a natural connection to form between the younger actors and the mythical animal. While this movie might not be on anyone’s re-watch list, its runtime makes it bearable, resulting in an easy film to throw on with the kids.
It’s dish served deliciously. Jennifer Kaytin Robinson’s Do Revenge (B+) is a smart teen comedy loosely inspired by Strangers on a Train, set in a prestigious Miami high school with candy-coated colors and ‘90s music delights. Talented TV stars Camila Mendes and Maya Hawke get top billing in this fever dream of diabolical double crosses and hilarious one-liners. The film examines the truth and consequences of spreading secrets and starting rumors and demonstrates toxicity isn’t the domain of a single gender. Mendes and Hawke are a wonderful duo and play two ends of a spectrum with verve and vivacity. Austin Abrams is also a hoot as a hedonistic bad boy. This is a recommended comedy in the terrific tradition of Heathers, Clueless and Mean Girls with tinges of suspense and acerbic wit.
You’ll want to wrap your tentacles around this feel-good, feel-sad nature documentary. James Reid and Pippa Ehrlich’s My Octopus Teacher (B) centers on diver Craig Foster who swims for a year with an octopus that lives in a kelp forest off the coast of South Africa. Through visiting her den and tracking her movements every day, he creates a symbiotic bond that rejuvenates his faith in his own human world. The octopus is a tad more interesting than the guy, and the human drama seems a little tacked on to add extra resonance. But the underwater camera work is spectacular, from camouflaging to evade pyjama sharks to feasting eyes on predatory seafood banquets. Much of the detail is nothing short of miraculous. It’s immersive and occasionally rousing and an unexpected find suitable for families.
This unusual original film has debuted on Netflix.
Someone is slowly going mad, and it starts to feel like an audience having its patience tried. Writer/director Charlie Kaufman’s snow-tinged four-hander psychological drama I’m Thinking of Ending Things (C) is one of those slow simmer stories in which most of what happens doesn’t make much sense until the final act, and not even completely then. Jessie Buckley plays the ponderous protagonist who visits with her increasingly unusual boyfriend (Jesse Plemons) to the home of his eccentric parents (Toni Collette and David Thewlis) where events unfold with confounding absurdity. Kaufman’s dense dialogue, insider pop culture and art references, time jumps, creepy camerawork and riffs on a bleak outlook are consistently watchable, but it keeps feeling like it’s going to add up to more or that it’s riddles will finally reveal themselves. All four primary actors are delightful even with obtuse and impenetrable characters. It’s a singular, sometimes hallucinogenic work from an idiosyncratic creator but ultimately doesn’t completely reward those who prattle through its labyrinth.
Two master actors chew the Sistine scenery in the often insightful, sometimes humorous The Two Popes (B), directed by Fernando Meirelles. Anthony Hopkins plays Pope Benedict, making the stunning decision of recanting his papacy, and Jonathan Pryce portrays the future Pope Francis, visiting Vatican City and Benedict’s summer home in a moment of crisis for the church. Both actors are at the top of their game reflecting two very different world views. The film works best in depicting the two men discussing conflicting interpretations of church teachings in the world and debating nuances of God’s authority (a veritable tennis match of lobbing insightful dialogue back and forth like a tennis match) and is less effective in addressing topical issues of church scandals or even delving into some mysterious flashbacks. The film has some fun with behind the scenes glimpses of the men following World Cup matches and other personal moments humanizing their lives while wrestling with Big Issues. It’s an ultimately hopeful look at the good that men can do when balancing theological duties with a perspective beyond the insular workings of the church.
You may want to cover your eyes and frankly shut down all of your senses for Sandra Bullock’s overhyped dystopian suspense film playing exclusively on Netflix. Susanne Bier’s Bird Box (C) follows Bullock’s heroine who, along with a pair of precious children, embarks on an adventure through the woods and down a river blindfolded to avoid supernatural entities which cause people who lock eyes with them to take their own lives. Bullock and co-star Trevante Rhodes acquit themselves pretty well in the acting department, while a supporting cast including John Malkovich overplay wildly underwritten roles. The action and effects are quite average, and the end result is not worth all the fuss. It’s mostly a wobbly endeavor and a far cry from the similarly themed A Quiet Place, one of 2018’s best movies.
Alfonso Cuarón’s family drama set in a middle class Mexico City neighborhood in the early 1970s, Roma (B), is an elegiac tribute to his family’s real housekeeper who was a steady presence as the family slowly splintered. Told with a sweeping tableaux of intimate and epic moments, photographed in black and white 65 millimeter glory and using rich natural sounds without an underscore to accompany several Spanish language dialects, the film is a roaring technical achievement. Tracking shots of bustling city life, a youth revolt and an ocean vista are among its most stunning. The burden of narrative is carried largely on the shoulders of first-time actress Yaritza Aparicio, and she is marvelously revelatory and relatable. A lot happens and also not very much. There’s a long stretch of cleaning house and talking to the dog. There are multiple sequences of the family children talking but not saying much. But then the protagonist is hoisted into a world of opulent cityscapes, profound joy and grief and even a moment or two of genuine action against the backdrop of rising political unrest and tension. Cuarón beautifully and fully recreates the squalor and splendor of his semi-autobiographical childhood memories with his camera floating through its settings and subjects as if caught up in a dream. The storytelling is spare and lacks dramatic characterizations and fully realized linkages to match the power of the visuals. See it in theatres if you can, but even on Netflix, prepare to behold the panoramas of gorgeous moviemaking.