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Movie Review

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Pierce Brosnan and Kaya Scodelario in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Gravitas Ventures
Fan Bingbing and Kaya Scodelario in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Gravitas Ventures
William Hurt in the role of Père La Chaise. Photo courtesy of Gravitas Ventures

By Jeffrey Sanzel

Vonda N. McIntyre’s The Moon and the Sun (1997) blended science fiction and historical romance. The novel won the Nebula Award for Best Novel, besting George R. R. Martin’s A Game of Thrones. Among the book’s other accolades were a Publishers Weekly Best Book Award, Locus Recommended Book, and Intergalactic Award for Best Novel. Set in the seventeenth-century French court of King Louis XIV, the story follows the longest-reigning monarch’s search for immortality by ingesting an endangered sea monster’s flesh.

Talk of a movie version can be traced back to 2002, with Natalie Portman attached as the lead. But the film failed to be greenlit. Eventually, The Moon and the Sun was filmed in 2014, set for a 2015 release date, but the film remained on the shelf for nearly seven years. Various reasons have been proffered, including test audiences’ less than positive reaction to the visual effects and a tax evasion scandal involving the film’s mermaid, Fan Bingbing, China’s highest-paid female star. The film has finally been released under the title The King’s Daughter.

It has taken a quarter of a century for The Moon and the Sun to land on the big screen. But sadly, one suspects that this is not what McIntyre had in mind.

Choosing Julie Andrews as narrator probably seemed like a good idea on paper, but the once-upon-a-time illustrated prologue along with Andrews’ unique warmth and whimsy point towards Disney’s Beauty and the Beast. Unfortunately, the child-friendly prologue presents the wrong signals for what is—or at least should be—a darker tale.

The opening convent scene features Rachel Griffiths as the Mother Abbess channeling The Sound of Music as she disciplines Marie-Josèphe (Kaya Scodelario) for being too … well, too Maria von Trapp. The Abbess’ departing shot to the girl is that she is going “to a lavish, glimmering hell … where you no doubt will thrive.” If only. 

The court seems to be short on courtiers. Outside of a scene of the king (Pierce Brosnan) addressing what looks like the peasants from a road company operetta, the population of Versailles seems to be on holiday. Perhaps they are off buying some of the strangely non-period dresses that occasionally pop up in the oddest places.

Quickly, with very little explanation other than a gift for music, she is whisked away to the court by the king’s personal confessor, Père La Chaise (William Hurt). Louis quickly elevates the feisty lass to court composer. 

Meanwhile, sailor Yves De La Croix (Benjamin Walker) has found the sea creature (Bingbing). The villainous court doctor (Pablo Schreiber) has promised the monster’s heart and life force will grant the king eternal life. The mermaid must be sacrificed during the upcoming solar eclipse. 

Louis shows particular interest in Marie-Josèphe, as she is his illegitimate daughter, spawning some of the most uncomfortable parent-child scenes ever found outside of the plays of Eugene O’Neill. 

The mermaid’s singing draws Marie-Josèphe to the pool in which the creature is imprisoned. The musician uses the siren’s pinging vocalizations to inspire her composition, meeting the king’s immediate approval. In addition, the girl falls for the sailor. However, as the court is in dire financial straits, Louis wants Marie-Josèphe to marry the wealthy merchant-heir Jean-Michel Lintillac (Ben-Lloyd Hughes).

Barry Berman and James Schamus have taken a range of liberties with the source in fashioning their clumsy screenplay. Director Sean McNamara’s lack of nuance does nothing to enhance the performances. Teeth-grinding earnestness fills every line; emotion is replaced by slow motion. Brosnan is always charming and could have excelled in the role, but the writers could not commit to what they wanted their Sun King to be. His relationship with Hurt’s priest seems like lifted from a buddy movie. Scodelario alternates between pleasantly upbeat (though occasionally a bit rom-com) and crying.

Films of this ilk can be saved by style-over-substance. Lady-in-waiting Magali (Crystal Clarke) tells Marie-Josèphe that “color and bravado are the order of the day.” Again, if only. The filmmakers were granted access to shoot at Versailles. Somehow, they made the spectacular palace look cheap—as if shot in the producers’ Hampton’s backyard.

 The royal ball in the Hall of Mirrors is a missed opportunity to showcase excess and opulence, further ruined by an excruciating father-daughter dance. The underground cave where they keep the mermaid is quasi-Pirates of the Caribbean (not the film—the ride). The special effects seem generated on an ancient laptop, with the final sequence particularly appalling. 

After dithering about souls and morality, the final platitude is “only love is immortal.” Yes. But clear storytelling and character development can be nice, too.

Rated PG, The King’s Daughter is now playing in local theaters.

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Jenna Ortega in a scene from 'Scream.' Photo from Paramount Pictures

By Jeffrey Sanzel

The horror and comedy genres have always been an uneasy mixture. Early examples show a clumsy and ultimately juvenile mix, fodder for the preteen matinee crowd. The most obvious examples include the Abbott and Costello/Universal outings where the duo clashed with a rogue’s gallery of baddies from Frankenstein’s monster to Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

Jenna Ortega with Ghostface
in a scene from ‘Scream.’ Photo by Brownie Harris/Paramount Pictures

Horror films shifted with the aggressively cold Hammer films and then found a reemergence in the late 60s into the 70s. Rosemary’s Baby (1968) ushered in an era of grudging respect for cinematic terror. The genre reached its peak with John Carpenter’s near-perfect Halloween (1978). Any humor found in these works was incidental and subtle. Wes Craven’s A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984) introduced elements of dark comedy. (As the series deteriorated, serial killer Freddy Krueger descended to the level of a quippy late-night TV host, rather than the rooted evil in which he was forged.) 

Kevin Williamson’s screenplay for Scream (1996), directed by Craven, successfully blended horror and humor. Scream and its franchise are rooted in a meta-view of the clichés acknowledging the classic tropes. The first Scream movie was clever, brilliantly tense, and genuinely funny; its opening scene (featuring Drew Barrymore) is horrifyingly smart. The characters’ awareness of the rules of the slasher film informed their perceptions.

Three sequels followed with the cleverest element: the introduction of the film-within-a-film, Stab (and its sequels), taking self-awareness to another degree. While not completely deteriorating like most films followed by a number, the quality, insight, and thrills were less.

The newest incarnation, returning to the original title, Scream, continues where Scream 4 ended. Matt Bettinelli-Olpin and Tyler Gillett have taken the directorial reigns (Craven having passed away in 2015), working from a script by James Vanderbilt and Guy Busick. Though attempting to dodge a numerical appellation, this is Scream 5 and a standard slasher:

Group of teenagers in various generic relationships. Check.

Some connection to past storylines. Check.

Cameos of expendable characters from earlier films. Check.

Excessive violence and blood. Check.

People being brutalized but managing to not be in too much pain. Check.

Legacy characters appearing as Deus ex machina. Check.

At one point, the writers have given the “expert” a speech about “requels.” These are the films that are neither sequels nor reboots but some hybrid. Whether this is clever or justifying the new Scream is hard to say.

The story occurs twenty-five years after the Loomis-Macher murder spree in Woodboro. The first scene shares DNA with the opening of the original. While on the phone with the killer, terrified high school student Tara Carpenter (Jenna Ortega) must answer questions about the Stab franchise, or her friend will be murdered. Ghostface is actually in the Carpenter home and stabs Tara seven times (though the girl survives).

Ghostface
in a scene from ‘Scream.’
Photo from Paramount Pictures

The attack is a ploy to get Tara’s estranged sister, Sam (Melissa Barrera), to return. Joined by her attentive if slightly uniformed boyfriend, Richie (Jack Quaid), Sam quickly reveals her connection to one of the original killers. She and Richie recruit the dissipated former sheriff Dewey Riley (David Arquette). Ghostface continues his attacks, and the teenagers spout quips, referencing the horror movie rules. Running in the background is the release of a much-maligned Stab 8.

The jump scares are plentiful, predictable, and pedestrian, lacking a sense of danger, either on-screen (or in the audience). Even though there is a sadistic killer in their midst, the town strangely takes it as business-as-usual.

Just before the halfway mark, Sydney Prescott (Never Campbell) and Gale Weathers (Courtney Cox) show up to join the hunt for the killer. The old gang is back together. The most painful, excruciating moment has nothing to do with knives: The reunion of the now divorced Dewy and Gale manages to be both under- and over-written simultaneously. 

Throughout, nods to other horror films include the dangerous hospital (Halloween 2) and the shower scene (Psycho). A character named Wes and an Elm Street memorialize Craven. A vague analysis of toxic fandom is important but not fully realized. A lack of texture and a plethora of stiff dialogue keep the film at a distance.

Even with the return of Arquette, Campbell, and Cox, the film fails to ignite. The new cast members do their best, each suspecting the other of being the killer. Even saddled with excessive exposition, Barrera and Ortega make for self-actualized Scream Queens.

There are definite flashes of wit and enormous meta potential. But clichés are sometimes just that: clichés. And, with all the blood, Scream is the hardest to watch when trying to be noble and sincere.

Whether a sequel, a reboot, or a “requel,” Scream is more of a whimper. And just as in the movie’s world where there will be a Stab 9, we can expect a Scream 2. Or 6. Number it as you will.

Rated R, Scream is now playing in local theaters.

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A scene from Disney's 'Encanto'. Photo courtesy of Walt Disney Animation Studios

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

The question of “What is a gift?” is the driving force of Disney’s 60th feature film, Encanto. Set in the mountains of Columbia, in an unspecified “once upon a time,” Encanto is one of Disney’s finest and most sophisticated animated musicals. Exquisitely directed by Byron Howard and Jared Bush (with a screenplay by Bush and Charise Castro Smith), this is a memorable story of family and responsibility.

Fleeing from marauding conquerors, Alma Madrigal loses her husband, Pedro, but saves her infant triplets. An “Encanto” is a charm; here, the spell is in a candle. The magical force of the candle creates the “casita”—a magic home for Alma and her children.

A scene from Disney’s ‘Encanto’. Photo courtesy of Walt Disney Animation Studios

The Encanto blesses each member of the Madrigal family with a special power. Together, these “gifts” help maintain the community. But what happens when that gift brings visions no one wants to know? Or, even more challenging, when a child seemingly has no gift at all? The latter is the case with granddaughter Mirabel, the heart of the narrative and, ultimately, the center and savior of family and village.

Mirabel is a quirky, frustrated young woman; smart and articulate but under-appreciated. Her mother, aunt, sister, and cousins outshine her with their showy skills. Julieta, Mirabel’s mother, heals any ailment with food. Gorgeous Isabela, Mirabel’s oldest sister, is considered perfect and makes flowers bloom. Just behind Isabela is Louisa, a girl of Herculean strength. Aunt Carolina’s emotions control the weather; she is often followed by her own cloud hovering over her head. Cousin Adassa has unparalleled hearing. Cousin Rhenzy is a shapeshifter, taking on the appearance of anyone he meets. Cousin Ravi-Cabot communicates with animals. 

While seemingly wonderful, these powers carry burdens as well, shared in often hilarious and telling ways.

The action goes into gear on the day Cousin Ravi-Cabot is to receive his gift. Mirabel, his favorite cousin, gives him the strength to face whatever is to come his way. While everyone is celebrating, Mirabel sees the house beginning to crack and the candle in danger of being snuffed. Her alarm is revealed to be a vision, but most do not—or choose not—to believe her. She embarks on a quest to solve the danger, encountering her Uncle Bruno, who had disappeared after his prognostications were met with resistance. 

With the knowledge gathered from Bruno, Mirabel understands her course and the dangers it includes.

Encanto is emotionally complicated and avoids preciousness. There is humor and plenty of magic, but the lessons it imparts are genuine. 

A scene from Disney’s ‘Encanto’. Photo courtesy of Walt Disney Animation Studios

Encanto is perhaps the least saccharine of any Disney film. Visually, the film is extraordinary, exploding with color and action. The house itself is a dynamic character, with its communicating tiles, floorboards that deliver slippers, and an alarm clock that nudges the householders to move along. 

The characters are charmingly animated, simultaneously broad and subtle. But, in the end, the film’s imparting is the all-important message that gifts do not have to be flashy and that miracles come from belief, perseverance, and love. The film never loses sight of these morals.

The vocal talent is exceptional. Stephanie Beatriz’s Mirabel is tremendous, portraying a struggling soul, imbuing her with perfect comedic timing and profound humanity. John Leguizamo’s Uncle Bruno uses twitchy antics to very slightly mask the character’s underlying sadness. Diane Guerrero’s seemingly vain Isabela finds new shades in her transformation. 

In Luisa, Jessica Darrow shows the drain of never complaining. And Maria Cecilia Botero raises the grandmother above caricature, finding depth and pain in the matriarch who comes to terms with her misplaced iron will. (Many of the actors will be voicing the Spanish language version as well.)

Hamilton/In the Heights’ Lin-Manuel Miranda has fashioned a serviceable and pleasant score, but the film stands on its own. An attempt to introduce the roster in “The Family Madrigal” doesn’t quite succeed but establishes the world in which the tale occurs. The strongest numbers are “Dos Orguitas,” a haunting tune sung in Spanish, and the joyous finale “All of You.” 

Preceding Encanto is Far From the Tree, a wordless short about a raccoon parent protecting its child with tough love. While simple and traditionally animated, the two pieces share how families relate and the deep-rooted desire to protect. They are perfect compliments, sharing overlapping cores, with Far From the Tree delicate and Encanto spark and sparkle.

In the end, Encanto teaches not just acceptance within a family but how family and community come together. These are big concepts, and younger viewers might not get them the first time. But like the best of family features—The Toy Story series, Coco, etc.—Encanto will be one that children will return to as they grow. 

And that said, there is much for everyone to relish in this beautiful and beautifully told tale

Rated PG, Encanto is now playing in local theaters.

 

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From left, reporter Tom Cullen, editor Art Cullen and publisher John Cullen of the Storm Lake Times.

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

“Readers decide our future. Not any branch of government.”

Sixty-five million Americans live in news deserts—counties with only one local newspaper or none at all. In the past fifteen years, one in four newspapers has shuttered in the U.S. Storm Lake, the fascinating documentary by Jerry Risius and Beth Levison, follows The Storm Lake Times, a family-run paper located in Buena Vista County, Iowa. Operating at break-even, The Times, a twice-weekly paper, is one of the last of its kind.

Editor Art Cullen at his desk at the Storm Lake Times

Located in the northwest corner of the state, Storm Lake is home to about 11,000 residents. Originally an almost exclusively Caucasian community, it now contains a large Latino population. Tyson Foods employs over 2,200 workers at its hog slaughterhouse, meatpacking plant, and turkey processing plant.

In ninety well-crafted minutes, Storm Lake offers a portrait of the small-town newspaper industry and a family whose goal is to keep it alive. Founded in 1990 by John Cullen, The Storm Lake Times’ face and voice is Art Cullen, John’s brother. Art, a benign curmudgeon and county’s Democratic voice, presents somewhat like a hippie Mark Twain. At age 59, he received the 2017 Pulitzer Prize for Editorial Writing. He “ask[s] the big questions, speak[s] truth to power, and share[s] the struggles and successes of his unique community.” The paper is a liberal bastion in the predominantly conservative area.

The Times has ten employees, including Art’s son, Tom, who is the main reporter. Founder John explains that he donates his salary because he is on Social Security. Art’s wife, Mary, can be seen taking pictures and writing features. Art’s sister-in-law provides the recipe column. The family dog, Peach, lolls on the office floor or rides along with drop-offs. 

Leisure editor Mary Cullen of the Storm Lake Times

The film smartly divides its focus between the big and small pictures. As a result, the day-to-day life of the paper contrasts with larger events. Advertising is the lifeblood of any paper, and The Storm Lake Times grapples with filling its quota. Most of the revenue derives from mom-and-pop stores, but large corporations have driven many out of business. 

There are many happy stories: births, local celebrities, “Miss Pigtails,” educational advancements, and county fairs. Local government is given the same weight as national politics. For their readers, garbage pickup is more important than a presidential hopeful’s visit. “Local journalism is the heart of telling the local story.” The report on Ice Out Day, when the ice melts, encompasses a reference to climate change. The Times follows a local Tyson plant worker who is moving forward on a Spanish language talent show. 

The paper never shies away from addressing issues of prejudice, extremely important in its growing immigrant community. The story of eight-year-old Julio Barroso, who was deported along with his family, is highlighted; the staff tracked him down in Mexico twenty-two years later. In addition, a partnership is developed with the Spanish paper La Prensa to share content and ads.

The staff listens to its community and responds to their thoughts and criticism. “There are consequences for everything we do, and we feel that feedback immediately,” says John.

Storm Lake Times editor Art Cullen interviews Elizabeth Warren in a scene from the film.

Broader politics included the coverage of The Heartland Presidential Forum, with major Democratic candidates speaking: Art Cullen was the draw. He interviewed Elizabeth Warren, Julio Castro, and Amy Klobuchar, among others. The Iowa Caucus occupies much of the middle and latter half of the film. But even here, there is a discussion about the cutting down of the paper’s TV listings from eighty channels to thirty-one to save space and money. Risius and Levison never lose sight of the myriad challenges.

The end of the film deals with the COVID crisis, and specifically, the Tyson plants. The Storm Lake Times reported on the disproportionate number of immigrants endangered by their work in unsafe conditions. Art states that this is “subtle racism—but racism all the same.” The Tyson operation became the hottest spot in the country for COVID cases. 

The denouement shifts briefly to the paper’s labors to survive the pandemic when “ads fell off a cliff,” and Art and John thought of closing the paper. Fortunately, with a go-fund-me and other support, The Storm Lake Times survived. With its new website, it reaches 1.2 million readers per month.

Storm Lake contains the expected filler of printing and binding papers, along with stacks dropped off in stores and machines. Occasionally, there is something meta about the documentarians shooting the television on which Art appears on a talk show. But there are wonderful extended quotes from many of Art’s insightful and passionate editorials. In addition, the documentarians know when to let the film breathe: a talk about feeding the dog, a discussion of a new shirt, or briefly watching Art pick the cashews out of a can of mixed nuts all add to the humanity.

In a world where people want their news for free, Storm Lake is a powerful and important reminder about local journalism’s responsibility, value, and contribution. The film ends on the hopeful note that good journalism elevates a community by reporting on what is good. 

“You can change the world through journalism. The reporter is the cornerstone in a functioning democracy. And without strong local journalism, the fabric of the place becomes frayed.”

For a free viewing of the film, visit www.pbs.org/independentlens/documentaries/storm-lake/.

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Pablo Pauly and Bill Murray in a scene from the film. Photo from Searchlight Pictures

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

Auteur Wes Anderson’s works are an eclectic mix. From Rushmore and The Royal Tenenbaums to The Fantastic Mr. Fox and Moonrise Kingdom, his voice and vision are unique among filmmakers. Quirky characters in fast-paced comedies carry an underlying melancholy and introspection. His films have received a total of fifteen Academy Award nominations. The Grand Budapest Hotel (2014) received nine nominations and won four.

Now Anderson has written and directed a star-studded omnibus, The French Dispatch of the Liberty, Kansas Evening Sun. Newspaper editor Arthur Howitzer, Jr. (Bill Murray) dies of a heart attack, leaving instructions to close the paper following a farewell issue. The final publication is to feature three articles from past editions, along with Howitzer’s obituary.

This thin framework is the basis for an anthology of three peculiar tales from the Liberty, Kansas Evening Sun’s French foreign bureau, located in Ennui. Each vignette focuses on one of the staff writers. Perhaps the stories are meant to be a send-up of a particular genre; the overall tone is firmly tongue-in-cheek, more spoof than satire.

In the first (“The Concrete Masterpiece”), J.K.L. Berensen (Tilda Swinton) tells of an artist, Moses Rosenthaler (Benicio del Toro), serving a prison term for double murder. While incarcerated, he paints a series of prison guard Simone (Léa Seydoux), that comes to the attention of another prisoner, Julien Cadazio (Adrien Brody). Cadazio (based on controversial British art dealer Lord Duveen) feels he has found the ideal modern artist. When released, he approaches his uncles (Henry Winkler and Bob Balaban) to embark on an exhibition of Rosenthaler’s work. The fly in the ointment is that Rosenthaler has painted the works on the prison walls.

In “Revisions of a Manifesto,” Lucinda Krementz (Frances McDormand) is a correspondent reporting on the “Chessboard Revolution.” While becoming involved with a much younger Zeffirelli (Timothée Chalamet), the bumbling leader of the revolt, she claims that she can maintain journalistic distance and integrity. In addition to their romantic liaison, Krementz rewrites Zeffirelli’s manifesto, including an appendix. 

The final chapter is “The Private Dining Room of the Police Commissioner.” Reporter Roebuck Wright (Jeffrey Wright), a nod to James Baldwin and A.J. Liebling, recounts the kidnapping of Gigi (Winston Ait Hellal), the son of the Ennui police commissioner (Mathieu Amalric), by a criminal syndicate. Police officer/noted chef Lt. Nescaffier (Stephen Park) becomes the hero through an elaborate poisoning. 

The plots are simple: a send-up of modern art (with a prison movie slant); a parody of young rebels and pointless causes; and a cops-and-robbers noir. But the telling is either brilliantly twisted or frustratingly convoluted, depending on the point-of-view. While ostensibly an homage to the day of the printed magazine (i.e., The New Yorker), the visual gymnastics are the driving force. Both cinematically steroidal (including rich black-and-white and vivid pop-art color, an awareness of the artifice of the sets, and even an animated car chase) and meta-theatrical (tableaux vivant), The French Dispatch is an often absorbing, wholly strange, and indefinable two hours.

The first-rate cast is clearly game for Anderson’s world. They play in a style that could be described as hyper-low key—sly, wry, and somehow conscious of the audience. In addition to the previously mentioned, appearances include an extraordinary ensemble in roles both large and small: Owen Wilson, Elizabeth Moss, Jason Schwartzman, Fisher Stevens, Lois Smith, Larry Pine, Christoph Waltz, Liev Schreiber, Edward Norton, Willem Dafoe, and Saoirse Ronan. Anjelica Huston is the omniscient narrator.

Some will find The French Dispatch a delightful and engaging absurdist meringue, visually striking, playing on multiple levels. Others might see it as a pretentious shaggy dog story, an in-joke of epic and head-scratching proportions. In any case, it would be impossible to experience this movie and not have an opinion.

Rated R, The French Dispatch is now playing in local theaters.

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Anya Taylor-Joy, left, and Thomasin McKenzie in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Focus Features

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

Director Edgar Wright’s best-known work includes Hot Fuzz, Shaun of the Dead, Scott Pilgrim vs. the World, and Baby Driver. In a strong departure from his more satiric work, Last Night in Soho is an entertaining psychological thriller, mixing familiar tropes with clever, original ideas. Wright nods towards British horror films of an earlier era and a shadowy look at the “Swinging Sixties.” If the ending does not quite live up to its potential, it is a minor cavil in a fast-paced two hours.

Eloise (a riveting Thomasin McKenzie) leaves her sheltered Cornwall home for London to study fashion design. After her mother’s death (due to an unspecified mental illness that drove her to suicide), “Ellie” was raised by her grandmother (fluttering and supportive Rita Tushingham). Ellie has two passions: fashion and the 1960s, illustrated in a spot-on (if a bit on-the-nose) opening with her dancing in a newspaper gown to the sounds of “A World Without Love.” However, rather than feeling precious, there is more than a hint of frailty and even menace in a seemingly benign sequence.

Anya Taylor-Joy, left, and Thomasin McKenzie in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Parisa Taghizadeh / Focus Features

While anxious to have a career in high fashion to which her mother aspired, scholarship student Ellie finds the cutthroat university world overwhelming. Her roommate, mean girl Jocasta (Synnøve Karlsen, doing the best she can with the caricature), drives her out of their shared student housing. 

Ellie rents a top-floor apartment from the no-nonsense Ms. Collins (the final performance of the great Diana Rigg). Once ensconced in the bedsitter, Ellie begins having visions of Sandie (The Queen’s Gambit’s Anya Taylor-Joy, radiant and disturbed in equal measure). Sandie is a self-assured would-be singer in an idealized, peripatetic 1960s London.

Whether Ellie is transported back to 1965 or is having visions (or both) is part of the premise. Sometimes she sees herself reflected as Sandie. Other times, Ellie is outside Sandie, watching her. In any case, she experiences what Sandie does. At first, Ellie is delighted, finding joy in the new feelings. But quickly, the encounters turn. A talent manager, Jack (Matt Smith, oily and dangerous), engages Sandie. But Jack is a vicious, manipulative pimp, and Sandie’s life becomes a nightmare from which Ellie cannot escape.

Terence Stamp makes the most of a mysterious gentleman who seems to straddle both worlds, haunting Ellie in the pub where she has taken a job as well as the neighborhood itself. Michael Ajao’s John is warm and fully present as the fellow student who has feelings for Ellie. He owns the tricky balance of supporting Ellie but not furthering what he perceives as her delusions. 

Rigg mines depth in the wry and knowing landlady, with a final scene that skirts predictability through a dimensional, effortless, and mesmerizing performance. 

The film is strongest when it leans into the psychological elements of the story. The screenplay, by director Wright, along with Krysty Wilson-Cairns, presents two conflicted heroines. 

Ellie battles with inner demons that prevent her from adjusting to city life. The struggles are fully awakened—and acerbated—by her presence in the room where Sandie lived. Sandie fights the terrors of her horrific day-to-day life of fear and forced prostitution. Wright has created a relationship that is complementary and symbiotic and that somehow runs parallel and intersects. 

Both McKenzie and Taylor-Joy give extraordinary, textured performances, showing two individuals in search of identity. (There are some obvious but nonetheless telling moments dealing with names.) Both actors palpably manifest a powerful connection in their disconnected worlds.

Wright has used his soundtrack to great advantage, using the songs as commentary on the narrative. The nearly two dozen numbers include “Wishin’ and Hopin’,” “You’re My World,” “Puppet on a String,” “(Love Is Like a) Heatwave,” “Don’t Throw Your Love Away,” and Taylor-Joy’s acapella rendition of Petula Clark’s signature “Downtown” which is simultaneously alluring and chilling.

Clearly, Roman Polanski’s Repulsion has inspired Wright; the 1965 Catherine Deneuve film dealt with sex, violence, and a descent into madness. Where Last Night in Soho is weakest is in the horror department. The spirits take on an almost creature-feature appearance and undermine the more cerebral, edgier aspects. Cinematographer Chung-hoon Chung presents a muted present-day London while the flashbacks are initially vivid and colorful before shifting to darker hues as Sandie’s world crumbles.

While by no means a perfect film, Last Night in Soho is an excellent antidote for mindless slasher films (Halloween Kills) that seem to spring up this time of year. The film offers strong performances and an entertaining, twisty addition to the world of psychological thrillers. 

Rated R, Last Night in Soho is now playing in local theaters.

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Nick Castle as Michael Myers in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Universal Pictures

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

The Halloween franchise boasts eleven films, including seven in the first series (with the third an unconnected entry), a reboot, and a continuation of its premiere track. The most recent, Halloween (2018), is now joined by Halloween Kills.

Jamie Lee Curtis and Judy Greer in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Universal Pictures

While falling into the category of “slasher movie,” Halloween (1978) remains one of the finest thrillers. Taut, brooding, and atmospheric, it relied on shadows, tension, and an unforgettable score to create its horror. John Carpenter directed and co-wrote the film that remains definitive in the genre. In addition, the film catapulted its lead, Jamie Lee Curtis, to Scream Queen stardom. She presented Laurie Strode as a self-actualized and resourceful heroine. Curtis would reprise the role four more times in addition to Halloween Kills and Halloween Ends (projected for release in 2022).

Ignoring much of the mythology developed during the progressively less inspired sequels, the well-received Halloween (2018) picked up forty years after the original film, with institutionalized killer Michael Myers (once again Nick Castle and James Jude Courtney) escaping while being transferred to a maximum-security prison. After returning to Haddonfield and embarking on a killing spree, he “dies” in Laurie’s burning home. The film emphasized Laurie as a wounded survivor, finding the inner strength to confront her living nightmare. The script—by Jeff Fradley, Danny McBride, and David Gordon Green—honored the story’s roots. Carpenter praised the outing, noting the strength of the screenplay and Green’s direction.

It would be easy to say things like Halloween Kills … an hour and forty-six minutes of your life. Or Halloween Kills … the desire to go to the movies. Or Halloween Kills … a franchise. It would be easy to pick this low-hanging fruit. So, I won’t say any of those things. 

Halloween Kills is a movie cobbled together with brutal violence and an absence of actual conflict. It serves as a placeholder between the first film, which reintroduced the characters, and the third (and hopefully final) chapter that concludes Laurie’s journey. That Michael Myers must survive to complete the trilogy is a given. Nevertheless, it does not need to be so painfully generic. In the first fifteen minutes, Michael slaughters an entire team of first responders. What follows is one meaningless killing after another.

The film makes the egregious error of showing flashbacks to the Halloween (and Halloween) of 1978. However, these newly shot scenes lack the meditative, shadowed world of the original. Instead, they are overwrought, introducing information with only the slightest nod towards character development. Additionally, the use of footage of Donald Pleasance (the powerful, understated Dr. Loomis of the source film) is a reminder of the complete absence of style and substance in this newest incarnation.

Having been stabbed in the abdomen, Laurie spends almost the entire film in a hospital bed (shades of Halloween II’s hospital location). Sidelining the strongest character is a mistake. Saddling an actor of Jamie Lee Curtis’s caliber with embarrassingly clumsy dialogue is a crime.

The roster of townspeople is a mix of new characters and shout-outs to minor characters in the original. Some of the 1978 cast returns to play themselves forty years later; others are the grown-up versions of the children hunted that fateful night. 

Anthony Michael Hall is the adult Tommy, the boy Laurie was babysitting. The role edges to slightly more than one dimension. At a bar talent night(!), Tommy shares the story of “The Bogeyman,” who terrorized the town. His character misfires on every level, trading trauma for campfire whimsy and rally-round-the-pitchfork-boys. Among the new victims for the stalk-dispatch-repeat are an African American couple (she’s a doctor; he’s a nurse) and a gay couple (Big John and Little John). Please don’t get too invested in the diversity; they are all undefined fodder for the knife.

Worst of all, in a nod to topicality, the creators introduce the dangers of mob mentality and vigilante justice. “Evil dies tonight!” they chant. Multiple times. Declarations such as “No, he’s turning us into monsters,” “The more he kills, the more he transcends,” and “He is the essence of evil” don’t elevate the situation.

The performances never overstep the awkward script. Judy Greer (as Karen Nelson, Laurie’s daughter), Andi Matichak (as Allyson Nelson, Laurie’s granddaughter),  and Will Patton (as Deputy Frank Hawkins) continue their paths from Halloween (2018). Greer, a talented actor, is a cipher. It is also hard to believe that her husband was murdered by Michael this same night. It is as if the year between the release of the films has allowed her to accept it. The storyline and timeline are bizarrely disconnected. 

For those looking for a predictable, sadistic bloodbath, Halloween Kills might be for you. But, for those hoping for plot, motivation, thought, tone, and engagement … well, there’s always next Halloween. Rated R, the film is now playing in local theaters.

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Other seasonal fair to consider: the Candyman reboot; Malignant, the twisty thriller from James Wan; Lamb, the story of a human/sheep hybrid; Last Night in Soho, a psychological time-travel film with a horror overtone; malevolent forces in Shepherd; and the supernatural creature-feature Antlers, starring Keri Russell. (Please note: These films have not been reviewed by TBR News Media.)

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Michael Gandolfini as a young Tony Soprano and Alessandro Nivola as Dickie Moltisanti in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Warner Bros.

By Jeffrey Sanzel

“It’s not T.V. It’s HBO.” 

This promotional phrase captured the viewing public’s attention, promoting a shift in the nature and caliber of the small screen. With Oz, Six Feet Under, Curb Your Enthusiasm, The Wire, Sex and the City, and Game of Thrones, the subscription service elevated quality and expectations. 

But, perhaps the show that truly launched the revolution was The Sopranos (1999-2007). And no anti-hero captured imaginations more than Tony Soprano, vividly brought to life in an award-winning performance by the late James Gandolfini. For eighty-six episodes, over six seasons, the New Jersey mob boss struggled with personal and professional demons. 

The Sopranos transformed the gangster/crime genre into an event that was perpetually brutal, darkly humorous, and almost always surprising. The ensemble cast, headed by Gandolfini and Edie Falco, was nothing short of flawless. Yet, even when it strayed from its strengths, it was still the most watchable and addictive show on television.

A scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Warner Bros.

Sopranos creator David Chase has co-penned the screenplay (with Lawrence Konner) for The Many Saints of Newark, a prequel spanning 1967 to the mid-70s. Focusing on Dickie Moltisanti (father of The Sopranos’ Christopher, played by Michael Imperioli, who narrates from beyond the grave), the story draws on the same well as its source: allegiances and betrayals, violence, and family. 

Once again, it is a realm of street shootings, hypocritical funerals, heaping trays of pasta, neglected wives, and abused mistresses. Adding texture and weight to the narrative are the race riots of Newark, as seen through the eyes of Harold McBrayer (Leslie Odom, Jr., making every moment count), an African American associate of the crime family. Though not fully realized, the unrest reflects our contemporary turbulent times.

While Tony’s father, Johnny (Jon Bernthal), is shown going to and returning from prison, the film keeps him surprisingly in the periphery. Dickie’s relationship with his father (a slightly over-the-top Ray Liotta), his father’s immigrant wife (Michela De Rossi, finding depth), and Tony (played by William Ludwig as a boy and James Gandolfini’s son, Michael Gandolfini, as a teenager) are the driving forces. 

As Dickie, Alessandro Nivola embodies bravado affected by doubt and guilt. Some of the strongest moments featured his father’s imprisoned twin brother (played with a fascinating edge and subtlety by Liotta). Like The Soprano’s Tony, the shadow of doubt and the battle with moral conflict enrich Nivola’s hoodlum.

The draw in The Many Saints of Newark comes from familiarity with the world Chase created. Saints is, in theory, a standalone film, but the mythology is rooted in what comes next. It is unlikely that people new to The Sopranos will be intrigued enough to explore the original; the film is fan-centric and for devotees. 

The most entertaining moments are the ones that reference the characters’ latter selves. John Magaro, as Silvio Dante, finds Steven Van Zandt’s peculiar walk and definitive speech pattern. While given very little to say, Samson Moeakiola’s Big Pussy is a ringer for a young Vincent Pastore. However, with their screen time, these almost feel like cameos or Easter Eggs. 

A scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Warner Bros.

Glimpses of Janice, Carmela, Jackie Aprile, and Artie Bucco are more a Where’s Waldo? than resonating additions to the overall landscape. (Corey Stoll as Junior Soprano fails to capture the essence of Dominic Chianese’s eccentric second fiddle.) The result is recognition of familiar lines or reactions rather than engrossment in the complexity of character.

Vera Farmiga is the exception. She consistently evokes Tony’s elder monster-mother Livia (the indelible creation of Nancy Marchand). Farmiga finds the broad strokes as well as the nuance in the mercurial Soprano matriarch. A simple kitchen interaction with the teenage Tony (Gandolfini) embodies the relationship core to the entire series.

The film conjures the era, shot with a brisk pace and an eye for detail by veteran Sopranos director Alan Taylor, and the gritty, period cinematography of Kramer Morgenthau (whose work has included Boardwalk Empire and Game of Thrones).

If anything, the movie offers new life to a departed show that was universally mourned by its faithful followers. It is less a driving narrative and more meditative (though violently so): Chase offers a slice of Mafia life. And while there is an arc, there is no sense of finality. 

Without James Gandolfini, a return of the television show seems unlikely. So rather than a reboot, Saints heralds a possible film series exploring what led up to where The Sopranos began. Whether these come to fruition remains to be seen. In the meantime, The Many Saints of Newark compellingly sheds some light on what came before.

Rated R, the film is now playing in local theaters and streaming on HBO Max.

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A scene from 'Dear Evan Hansen'. Photo courtesy of Universal Pictures
Film adaptation celebrates the essence of an unforgettable musical

By Jeffrey Sanzel

Lillian Hellman’s The Children’s Hour was touted as a play exploring “the power of a lie.” The same could be said of Dear Evan Hansen, the Broadway musical that opened in 2016 and had played over 1,300 performances before the shutdown. It returns to its home at the Music Box on December 11.

Evan Hansen is a high school senior with social anxiety. His therapist has assigned him to write self-encouraging letters (thus the title). The school outcast, Connor Murphy, steals one. When Connor commits suicide, the letter is found in his pocket. The boy’s family finds solace in the idea that he had a close friend in Evan. Instead of explaining the mistake, out of a mix of sympathy, sensitivity, and fear, Evan goes along with the misunderstanding. However, the situation becomes a bigger issue when Connor’s memory becomes a cause. And while his intentions are initially good, the lie ultimately becomes destructive.

Ben Platt and Julianne Moore in a scene from ‘Dear Evan Hansen’. Photo courtesy of Universal Pictures

Benj Pasek, who wrote the score with Justin Paul, based the idea on an incident that occurred in his Philadelphia high school. Collaborating with book writer Steven Levenson, they created a smash hit that received critical accolades and garnered dozens of awards. Its six Tony’s included Best Musical, Best Book of a Musical, Best Original Score, and Best Actor in a Musical for Ben Platt’s star turn as the titular character. 

Platt is the sole member of the stage company to recreate a role in the screen version. Much has been said (predominantly online) about Platt being too old to play Evan, but this is unfounded carping. His portrayal of the tormented teen is nothing short of devastating. He has skillfully adapted his stage persona for the screen, finding depth and subtlety, with his voice soaring from first to last. Platt’s Hansen is a gift, and a reminder of the countless stage performances lost to Hollywood productions featuring bigger names of far lesser skill.

Levenson has fashioned a smart and effective screenplay, opening it up just enough but maintaining the stage version’s intimacy and integrity. Steven Chbosky’s direction ably captures Evan’s isolation, especially in the opening “Waving Through a Window,” but there is a sense of repetition in the endless panning shots. In addition, Chbosky and Levenson rely a bit too heavily on quickly inserted fantasy shots that don’t quite land. But, overall, they have transformed the musical into a satisfying cinematic experience, and the expanded ending is richer and more fulfilling than the original.

The driving force in the musical was the score, a unique and melodious contemporary Broadway sound. Four songs have been cut for the film, so Platt now carries about eighty percent of the music. The elimination of “Does Anybody Have a Map?” clearly emphasizes Evan’s journey, which somehow marginalizes the families (or at least the adult singers). And while there is logic to the change, the choice is a loss of a perfect song and establishing the story’s larger world.

Ben Platt and Amandla Stenberg in a scene from ‘Dear Evan Hansen’. Photo courtesy of Universal Pictures

One of the early highlights is the cleverly realized “Sincerely Me.” Evan recruits a family friend, Jared (the hilariously deadpan Nik Dodani), to create fake backdated emails to show Evan’s friendship with Connor (Colton Ryan, who shows great range and dimension). Platt makes every song work, but none as indelibly as his confession to Connor’s family in the devastating “Word’s Fail.”

Amy Adams and Danny Pino are honest and raw as Connor’s parents. Kaitlyn Dever is both believable and heartbreaking as Connor’s sister, Zoe, the object of Evan’s affections. The family’s “Requiem” trio shows their distance and struggle. Dever and Platt’s duet “Only Us” genuinely captures their unlikely burgeoning romance. Julianne Moore is fully present as Evan’s mostly absent mother. But her vocal skills are limited, and while there is an adjustment in her one number (“So Big/So Small”), the tentative vocal quality doesn’t fully suit the strength of the character.

The creators have expanded and softened the role of Alana Beck (Amandla Stenberg), the overachiever who heads up the Connor Project. In the play, there is a mercenary quality to Alana. Here, she is given a revelation of her issues with anxiety and depression, somehow diluting Evan’s isolation. Stenberg stunningly presents a new number—“The Anonymous Ones”—but there is something generic about both its sound and sentiment.

There is a general underplaying of the social media aspect that was hyper-present in the stage production. Film is an opportunity to explore cyberspace in a big (or even bigger) way. Instead, the creators opted for two brilliant, pivotal moments: the beautifully realized anthem “You Will Be Found” and later the online posting of the “Dear Evan Hansen” letter. However, there is a strange—and inaccurate—absence of cell phone use among the students.

But in the end, all are minor cavils. Dear Evan Hansen is a powerful, emotional, and, ultimately, important adaptation, celebrating the essence of a unique and unforgettable musical.

Rated PG-13, ‘Dear Evan Hansen’ is now playing in local theaters.

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Simu Liu in a scene from 'Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings.' Photo from ©Marvel Studios
A scene from 'Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings.' Photo from ©Marvel Studios
Simu Liu in a scene from 'Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings.' Photo from ©Marvel Studios by Jasin Boland. All Rights Reserved.
Simu Liu in a scene from 'Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings.' Photo from ©Marvel Studios

By Jeffrey Sanzel

Summer has long been the mainstay of cinematic superhero releases. Joining this season’s Black Widow and The Suicide Squad is Marvel Studio’s Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings, an enjoyable, if not wholly inspired, two hours.

In the wake of the hit television show Kung Fu, the Shang-Chi character debuted in Special Marvel Edition #15 (December 1973) and starred in a solo title through 1983. Spun-off from author Sax Rohmer’s work, Shang-Chi was the unknown son of Rohmer’s arch-villain, Dr. Fu Manchu. Writer Steve Englehart stated that Shang-Chi’s name came from the study of I-Ching, with “sheng” meaning “ascending” and “chi” vital energy. After Marvel lost the rights to Rohmer’s rogue, the company renamed Shang-Chi’s father, Zheng Zu.

After a nearly five-decade history, and several attempts dating back as early as 1980, Shang-Chi has now made it to the big screen in a colorful, predictable action-adventure.

The film opens over a thousand years ago, with Xu Wenwu (Tony Leung) wielding the ten rings, bands that give extraordinary power to their holder. With his organization, the Ten Rings, behind him, he becomes a warrior-conqueror throughout hundreds of years of history. 

In 1996, he becomes obsessed with locating Ta Lo, a village said to be the home of mythical beasts. He journeys through a magical forest, where the Ta Lo village guardian, Ying Li (Fala Chen), thwarts him. The two fall in love and leave the village, living in peace with their two children. Wenwu’s enemies, the Iron Gang, murder Li, causing Wenwu to resurrect the Ten Rings. He trains his son, Shang-Chi, in martial arts. When Shang-Chi is fourteen years old, his father sends him to avenge his mother’s murder.

The film jumps to present-day San Francisco. Shang-Chi (Simu Liu), now mild-mannered parking valet “Sean,” lives a quiet, unimpressive life, palling around with his best friend, the thrill-seeking Katy (Awkwafina). After an attack by the Ten Rings, Shang-Chi shares his past with Katy, and they journey to Macau in search of Shang-Chi’s sister, Xu Xialing (Meng’er Zhang).

The intersection of legend and legacy, fantasy and family, and the all-important good versus evil follows. Thematically, the writers emphasize the idea that we are all “a product of what came before,” intersecting with the more violent “a blood debt must be paid by blood.” Shang-Chi confronts that he must “face who [he is].” Much of this works because of Simu Liu’s “Who me?” charm growing into a more self-actualized and self-aware individual. With his inherent “watchability” and appealing warmth, he easily carries the film. 

While the supporting roles are underdeveloped, the cast is more than capable. Awkafina makes for an affable sidekick who comes into her own. Leung brings the gravitas with a touch of underlying pain to the patriarch. One wishes that Zhang’s Xialing had been given a bit more dimension as there is a wealth of potential. Her struggle with a sense of childhood abandonment is touched upon but not fully realized. Ben Kingsley reprises Trevor Slattery, a character introduced in the Marvel One Shot short film All Hail the King. Without previous knowledge, this inclusion is a bit off. Kingsley is amusing, especially interacting with the mythical beast, whom he calls “Morris,” but lacking the background, the result is an unfulfilling cameo.

But the true raison d’être of the film is the many action sequences, which range from extraordinary pairings to epic battles. There are enough fights to satisfy the cravings of even the most eager fans. There are battles on a bus, in a fight club, a parking garage, a bar, a field, etc. There is a point where it almost feels like a demented Green Eggs and Ham—“Would you, could you in a …”—and insert a location. But they are all beautifully staged, the more pastoral echoing the landmark Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. 

The CGI is neatly integrated, with a range of hybrid animals and fantastical creations. While, of course, created on a vastly higher level, there are nostalgic shades in the monster encounters, reminiscent of the stop-motion animation of Ray Harryhausen or even the earlier Godzilla movies.

Director Destin Daniel Cretton collaborated on the screenplay with Dave Callaham and Andrew Lanham. And while the dialogue is often stiff and declarative (with a handful of shoehorned wisecracks), the film is busy enough to keep propelling forward. With enough plot and lots of action, Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings epitomizes summer fare. And, like the majority of the genre, it will most likely be the first of many in the series.

Rated PG-13 the film is now playing in local theaters.

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