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Movie Review

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Photo from Netflix

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

The world of cinephiles divides between those who think Citizen Kane is one of (if not the) most brilliant films ever made — and those who think it is over-rated. Hundreds of thousands of words have been written about the film, dissecting its structure, cinematography, symbolism, background, and place in moviemaking history. 

The American Experience produced the documentary The Battle Over Citizen Kane (1996). It chronicled the battle between Orson Welles and William Randolph Hearst over the creation and release of the film. It was followed in 1999 by the historical drama RKO 281, which covered the same material and starred Liev Schreiber as Welles, James Cromwell as Hearst, and John Malkovich as screenwriter Herman J. Mankiewicz.

Netflix now offers David Fincher’s Mank. Fincher, best known for thrillers (Seven, Panic Room, Alien 3, Fight Club), has directed his late father Jack Fincher’s fascinating screenplay, less exploring Citizen Kane but instead focusing on the man behind the screenplay, Herman Mankiewicz. This is a piece of high style, evoking the noirish films of the 1940s; in essence, it tells the story in the way in which Welles himself would have. 

The film alternates between 1940 when Welles is eagerly waiting for Mankiewicz to finish the screenplay, and the early 1930’s where Mankiewicz is struggling to find a foothold. The screenplay, which would become Citizen Kane, is a thinly veiled and vicious take on the life of newspaper mogul Hearst and his relationship with his lover, Marion Davies. Mankiewicz is to receive a large fee for the screenplay but no credit. Laid up with a broken leg, he embarks on meeting Welles’ deadline.

Those looking for an account of the making of Citizen Kane should look elsewhere. Mank is instead an exploration of Hollywood, specifically the politics of show business and show business’ involvement in politics. A good deal focuses on the California gubernatorial election of 1934 and how the Republican MGM hierarchy ran a smear campaign against left-wing author Upton Sinclair.

Presented is a Hollywood of hedonism and an old boys’ network, of backroom deals, demanded loyalty, and the unchecked intersections of film, power, and money. In the midst of this is Mankiewicz who is battling his demons, both in his career and with his alcoholism. It is a story in which the protagonist is Quixote and Cervantes, an intriguing and demanding drama that requires full attention.

If the definition of being a great actor is to lose oneself in the role to the point of being unrecognizable, then there is no finer actor than Gary Oldman. He is a true chameleon. It is hard to measure his performances against each other because no two are alike in any way. His Mankiewicz is unique: charming, insightful, dissipated, conflicted, and inscrutable. It is one of the best performances of 2020.

Amanda Seyfried brings charisma and depth to Marion Davies, in contrast with Citizen Kane’s Suzanne Alexander Kane, a spoiled and unaware gold digger; Seyfried’s Davies has a core of honesty and a surprising self-awareness. Arliss Howard is effective as the volatile studio head Louis B. Mayer, a monster manipulator with no conscience. Charles Dance finds shades in his portrayal of Hearst that humanizes the character but in no way detract from the man’s ability to destroy. Tom Burke’s Orson Welles hovers around the periphery, more seen than heard (which is a good thing as he has successfully recreated Welles’ voice as his resemblance is only passing). Sam Troughton makes for a fussy John Houseman, sent by Welles to watch over Mankiewicz. Tuppence Middleton finds warmth and intelligence in Sara, Mankiewicz’s tolerant wife, as does Lily Collins as Rita Alexander, the willful secretary who assists him. The film is populated with cameos of icons of the era (Joan Crawford, Norma Shearer, Ben Hecht, George S. Kaufman, etc.) that enhance the epic feel.

The film is shot in rich black-and-white; Erik Messerschmidt’s cinematography deserves high praise. Equally credited should be Kirk Baxter’s spot-on editing. Donald Graham Burt’s production design complements the art direction of Chris Craine and Dan Webster. Trish Summerville’s hundreds of costumes perfectly reflect the era. 

Fincher’s collaboration with these artists has resulted in a vision of the darker Hollywood of another era. Mank is not so much a film about a film. It is instead a thoughtful portrait of the construction of art in the face of warring forces. 

In the end, Mankiewicz (who did not attend the ceremony) receives the Academy Award for Best Screenplay. Mankiewicz’s career would never reach another high of this proportion, and he would die thirteen years later from complications due to alcoholism, a genius dead at the age of fifty-five. This tacit and disturbing ending is an appropriate coda to an introspective and absorbing film.

Rated R, Mank is currently streaming on Netflix.

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Viola Davis in a scene from the movie. Photo from Netflix

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

August Wilson, one of the foremost American dramatists, created the ten-play cycle The Pittsburgh Plays. The pieces explored different elements of the African-American experience, each work set in a different decade. The second play (and third chronologically) was Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom. Inspired by blues singer Ma Rainey, it was set in a fictional recording session in Chicago. It opened on Broadway in 1984, receiving strong press and running for 276 performances.  

Netflix now offers an excellent film that enhances the stage production. George C. Wolfe has skillfully and sensitively directed a screenplay by Ruben Santiago-Hudson. Santiago-Hudson has wisely drawn the majority of the script from Wilson but has opened it up, most notably with a prologue showing Ma Rainey’s southern performance roots and the shift of African Americans from south to north in the Great Migration.  

The action shifts to the studio where the musicians await the arrival of Ma Rainey. The artists smoke, drink, and banter, and philosophize. But what seems like random chatter is a reflection of social injustice then and now. The men offer stories and anecdotes, with this slice of life elevated by Wilson’s honest and poetic words and exceptional performances.

Serving as the leader is guitarist and trombonist Cutler (Colman Domingo); Toledo (Glynn Turman) is the pianist and eldest of the group; Slow Drag (Michael Potts) plays double bass and Levee Green (Chadwick Boseman) is the rebellious trumpeter with big dreams. This quartet offer a glimpse into the challenges of being both black and musicians in the Chicago of the 20’s. The studio is run by Mel Sturdyvant (Jonny Coyne), whose mercenary tactics are slowly revealed. Irvin (Jeremy Shamos) is Ma’s anxious manager.

Ma Rainey (Viola Davis) arrives an hour late, setting off various complications. She is accompanied by her girlfriend, Dussie Mae (Taylour Paige), who has eyes for Levee, as well as her stuttering nephew, Sylvester (Dusan Brown), who she insists introduce the recording of “Black Bottom.”

What ensues is a battle of wills that represent issues of both music and race. While Ma appears to be difficult, it is really a matter of survival. She knows that she is being used by these white men, and they only cater to her as far as their needs. Viola Davis, possibly the finest actor working today, completely loses herself in Ma Rainey’s frustration and triumph. It is a flawless and mesmerizing performance of a woman who understands the nature of an unfair world.  

The film also marked the final performance of Chadwick Boseman, who sadly died of colon cancer at the age of forty-three. His performance is nothing less than brilliant, bouncing between Levee’s energetic and monomaniacal determination to create his own band and his inner demons. These lead to clashes with both Ma and his fellow musicians. His relating of his mother’s rape and his father’s revenge is one of the most chilling and raw moments in this or any film. 

The entire cast deliver dimensional and wholly present performances, easily drawing us into this world where they face both petty and large demands at every turn. Their stories take different shapes, some metaphoric and others brutally and vividly real. There is not a false or wasted moment. It builds to a harrowing climax and an equally brutal and telling coda. 

Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom celebrates the power of the blues, chronicling an important part of African American history. It is a reminder of art and of exploitation, of defiance and disappointment. It is also an exceptional film. Rated R, the film is currently streaming on Netflix.

Photos courtesy of Netflix

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Center, from left, Ariana Rose and Jo Ellen Pellman in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Netflix

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

In 2018, the musical The Prom made its Broadway debut at the Longacre Theatre.  With music by Matthew Sklar, lyrics by Chad Beguelin, and book by Bob Martin and Beguelin, it dealt with a group of narcissistic Broadway actors who are trying to change their unlikable images. Looking for a cause, they select a lesbian high school student who is denied the right to take her girlfriend to the prom. The quartet of Broadway performers travel to the conservative Edgewater, Indiana, where, in an attempt to help, they wreak havoc. Ultimately, it all works out in the way that musical comedies do.

There was a great deal of feel-good material and a lot of messages about understanding and tolerance in the show. Casey Nicholaw strongly directed the production, if leaning a bit into the over-the-top humor alternating with easy sentimentality. His choreography was engaging and vigorous, often leaning towards the athletic. The original cast was made up of Broadway veterans who brought out the best in the material. For the most part, the reviews were good but it failed to find an audience and closed within the year.

James Corden, Nicole Kidman, Andrew Rannells and Meryl Streep in a scene from the film. Netflix photo

Ryan Murphy, who was one of the Broadway producers, has now directed a film version which has been released on Netflix and is also currently playing in movie theaters. Murphy recruited Martin and Beguelin to write the screenplay with the majority of the score intact. They have opened it up, taking advantage of a range of locations to give it more variety and a more kinetic energy. There are also some good flashbacks that enhance the story as well. Murphy has shown the same care and whimsy here that he did with the recent Netflix miniseries Hollywood, and the result is an entertaining two hours.

Murphy has replaced the entire Broadway company with well-known film and television personalities. So many cinematic stage transfers have been ruined by stunt casting that fails to preserve the integrity of the source material. That said, Murphy has assembled an excellent company who deliver. 

Meryl Streep is delightful as the Broadway diva, Dee Dee Allen. She is outrageous but grounded in her own selective reality and manages to make Dee Dee both insufferable and likable, often simultaneously. Her singing voice is solid, and she manages the big numbers well enough. Andrew Rannells is a younger, edgier take on the Julliard-trained Trent Oliver; he has real musical theatre chops (The Book of Mormon) and a hipper approach to the character.

Keegan-Michael Key evokes the right balance of controlled concern and star-struck fan as the principal who is enamored with Dee Dee. Kerry Washington brings snap and spark to the outraged PTA president who is doing all she can to keep the prom “straight.”  Kevin Chamberlin is charming as the long-suffering agent.

Only Nicole Kidman seems lost as the perpetual chorus girl, Angie Dickinson. Her vocals are adequate but she never finds her way with the character. It is also clear that she is uncomfortable with the Fosse style and it undermines her big number — “Zazz” —  and ultimately the character’s core.

Jo Ellen Pellman has a beautiful voice and winning presence as Emma Nolan, the girl who just wants to go to the prom. She shines through the entire film — one just wishes she wasn’t smiling the entire time; the absence of angst makes the final moments not quite as cathartic. Ariana DeBose as Alyssa, the daughter of the crusading PTA president, ably shows her internal conflict as Emma’s closet girlfriend and delivers in her musical number, “Alyssa Greene.” The ensemble of young singer-dancers handle the big numbers well and have a nice ease about them.

But if the film belonged to any one performer, it would be James Corden as Barry Glickman, Dee Dee’s costar in the failed Eleanor Roosevelt musical that incites the entire plot. He is warm and funny but truly vulnerable. He is completely at home as both a singer and a dancer, making his numbers some of the best moments. In many ways, it becomes just as much his story as Emma’s.

The film has a strong start, moving quickly from place-to-place and song-to-song, everything cast in a musical comedy glow. There are many excellent production numbers that are hilarious — “Changing Lives,” “It’s Not About Me,” and “Love Thy Neighbor” — and just plain joyous —“Tonight Belongs to You.” Murphy wisely retained Nicholaw as choreographer.

It is unfortunate that the second half of the movie sags a bit with dramatic scenes that have been introduced to give both weight and extended background to Barry and Dee Dee. While it gives the two actors an opportunity to emote, the tonal shift and the additional time do nothing to drive the action forward.

These additions necessitated the trimming of several numbers, most notably “The Acceptance Song,” done at a monster truck rally.

This is a minor quibble in an overall enjoyable outing. The Broadway quartet learn and grow, just as we know they would.  Emma and Alyssa celebrate their love with the exuberant “It’s Time to Dance” — as celebratory here as it was on Broadway.

If people take exception to the ease with which minds are changed and bigotry is overcome, it should be reminded that this is the world of fantasy. Just as with his Hollywood, Murphy offers us not necessarily the world we have but perhaps the world we can hope for — and some really terrific production numbers along the way.

Rated PG-13, The Prom is currently playing in local theaters and on Netflix.

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Glenn Close and Amy Adams star in film adaptation of best-selling memoir by J.D. Vance. Photo courtesy of Netflix

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

In 2016, J.D. Vance published Hillbilly Elegy: A Memoir of a Family and Culture in Crisis. In it Vance examined his family’s Appalachian roots and values and how they affected their lives in Middletown, Ohio. He highlighted the contrast of loyalty and love of country with a history of violence and abuse. The book was an immediate but controversial bestseller.

So overwhelming was the response to his view on what were perceived as myths about poverty, the book Appalachian Reckoning: A Region Responds to Hillbilly Elegy was brought out in 2019.  This collection of essays criticizes Vance’s opinions and generalizations. Over the years, Vance has become a vocal social conservative.

From left, Haley Bennett, Gabriel Basso and Amy Adams in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Netflix

Netflix now offers a film adaptation that basically eschews the more direct political elements of the autobiography and instead focuses on his struggle both as a teenager and a student at Yale. With an engaging if narrow screenplay by Vanessa Taylor and focused direction by Ron Howard, they have chosen to tell a personal story that will still raise many of the questions and complaints resulting from the book.

The film alternates between 1997 and 2011, with the teenage Vance struggling with his home situation and the older Vance working three jobs while attending Yale and attempting to land a summer internship with a law firm in Washington. What ensues over the next two hours is the unwinding of his childhood history along with his present struggles as Vance returns home to once again deal with his volatile mother. In some ways, the film is a blending of the traditional coming-of-age story with the well-trodden dysfunctional family saga.

The film’s strength lies in its performances. Gabriel Basso plays the older Vance with a mix of stoicism and vexation as he tries to navigate his familial responsibility while trying to go advanced his life and career. He believably conveys the battle between past and future. Owen Asztalos, as the younger Vance, is the right mix of hope and disappointment. Both actors appear to be playing the same person which does not always happen in film.

Haley Bennett, as Vance’s sister, shows her love and commitment that is overwhelmed by a sense of weariness. Freida Pinto is fine with the rather unexplored and undeveloped Usha, Vance’s Yale girlfriend (and later wife).

But the film belongs to two compelling performances. Amy Adams is raw and fearless as Vance’s drug-addicted, mercurial mother, a nurse with both substance abuse and mental issues. She alternates between expressions of unconditional love and brutal physical and emotional attacks. It is unlike anything Adams has done prior, with truly visceral pain and rage. (If it all seems a bit too much, that responsibility should be attributed to Taylor and Howard.)

Glenn Close is a gifted actor with technical skills rivaled by very few (Meryl Streep, being one of them). Her performances are usually complete but sometimes there is a sense of the mechanics behind them. In this case, she has completely subsumed herself in the role of Vance’s grandmother. She is unrecognizable as the calculating matriarch with an ugly history (that is only alluded to once) and a presence focused on her grandson’s survival and growth, most importantly through education. In this cold and disconnected woman, Close has found a strange warmth. In stillness and action, when she is on screen, the film is hers.

Many will take exception to Vance’s —and hence the film’s — point-of-view and its simplistic and dubious portrayal of the causes and results of poverty. This is a valid and legitimate concern. However, Hillbilly Elegy is worth watching for the performances of two great American actors.

Rated R, Hillbilly Elegy is currently streaming on Netflix.

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The film's opening scene where a brother and sister (Ria Calvin, Kenyah Sandy) ask their grandmother (Phylicia Rashad) to read them a Christmas story. Photo courtesy of Netflix

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

Thanksgiving heralds the coming of the Christmas season — which means it is time to revisit the myriad opportunities for holiday viewing. In addition to the many Christmas Carols, there are the popular staples — It’s a Wonderful Life, Miracle on 34th Street, and A Christmas Story. Add to these the innumerable children’s classics — Santa Claus Is Coming to Town, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, How the Grinch Stole Christmas, Frosty the Snowman — there is viewing for not just days but weeks. And this does not touch on the Hallmark romances, television specials, and “very special Christmas” episodes that seem to populate prime-time.

Filmmakers are constantly looking to add to the tradition, finding something that can become an annual event. Strangely, they have been less successful in the area of musicals, a form that should lend itself to season. Discounting the animated features, the field is pretty thin. For every White Christmas, there is a Mrs. Santa Claus.   

Which brings us to Netflix’s offering, Jingle Jangle: A Christmas Journey. There are recommendable aspects in this new film but a lackluster and sometimes clumsy script and uneven storytelling gets in the way of its rising to its potential.

Diana Babincova as the younger Jessica Jangle with Justin Cornwell as the younger Jeronicus Jangle. Photo courtesy of Netflix

Jeronicus Jangle is an inventor, toymaker, and proprietor of Jangles and Things. He has just received a component for his latest invention that will change the world of toys. This element brings to life an automaton, Don Juan Diego, a matador doll. Jeronicus goes out to celebrate with his family, leaving his apprentice, Gustafson, in charge.

Gustafson, who feels underappreciated, is tricked by Diego (who doesn’t want to be mass-produced) into absconding with him and Jeronicus’ book of inventions. This choice destroys Jeronicus’ empire; as his fortunes fail, Gustafson becomes a huge success.

Fast forward to Jeronicus as a bitter widower, estranged from his daughter.  He has turned the toy emporium into a pawnshop which is now on the verge of bankruptcy. However, he continues to tinker with the ideas that had given him his start.

Enter his granddaughter Journey, brilliant in her own right, with a burning to desire to bond with her grandfather. Unsurprisingly, she becomes the catalyst for his resurrection and redemption, all centered around a robot called the Buddy 3000. The major conflict arises from Gustafson’s desperate need for a new product. This fuels the action for the latter part of the story.

The energy ranges from hyper-kinetic to meandering. The result is a strange “fast-slow” whereby the plot holes become pronounced. Perhaps they are banking on the younger viewers not seeing them but this is a mistake. Never underestimate the insight and instinct of children. As much as they will enjoy the magic and pageantry, there is a good chance that they will wonder about some of the more unexplained or contradictory moments. Or, even worse, lose interest.

Concepts from other fare — if you believe, you can fly — are borrowed but not transformed.

David E. Talbert is both writer and director, and it might have served the project to have some objective distance to solve the problems. The score is a mix of hip hop, R&B, pop, and a bit of traditional musical theatre. The songs, by Philip Lawrence, Davy Nathan, Michael Diskint, and John Legend, are all serviceable but nothing overly memorable. 

Madalen Mills as Journey, Forest Whitaker as the older Jeronicus Jangle in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Netflix

The choreography is enthusiastically athletic. Ashley Wallen recreates his success with The Greatest Showman’s “This Is Me” with “This Day”— but it seems like all the same and less. The fact that it comes so early in the film is also not helpful: We don’t know who those people are so it is hard to invest.  Sadly, there is no finale whereby Wallen could have once again engaged us — but this time we would have had the knowledge of the journey.

There is no question that the look of Jingle Jangle is a visually rich if overwhelming one.  A cross between benign Steampunk and Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, it is a vibrant world, full of bold colors and brass gears. The costumes (by Michael Wilkinson) are loudly spectacular in their delicious gaudiness. Gavin Bocquet’s production design is clever and creative, mixing steroidal Victorian with just a hint of FAO Schwarz.

Forest Whitaker just manages to nuance Jeronicus beyond a standard Christmas curmudgeon. He commits to the recluse’s petulance but allows us to see the struggle beneath. He also dodges the saccharine trap most associated with these cantankerous characters. He has a light but pleasant singing voice, which is nicely showcased in the ballad “Over and Over.”

Keegan-Michael Key’s adult Gustafson is a sort of villainous Wizard of Oz (right down to the green costume for his entrance). He seems to be having a grand time in the big number “Magic Man G” but sometimes it seems that he is searching for the right tone. He is a gifted comedian and a solid actor but the script doesn’t commit to a character.

Madalen Mills as Journey has a great deal to carry. She has a lovely singing voice and an open, honest persona, believable as the exuberant young genius. She is given a huge solo with “Not the Only One” and truly owns it. Anika Noni Rose, a very strong actor, plays her mother but, unfortunately, does not enter until late in the film — much past the point of introducing a new character with high stakes. Phylicia Rashad adds both elegance and eloquence as the storyteller.

Keegan-Michael Key plays the villain Gustafson in the film. Photo from Netflix

One of the stranger choices is Jeronicus’ love-interest. The romantically aggressive postwoman Ms. Johnston is a bit over-the-top but Lisa Davina Phillip does her best to give her genuine warmth. It is strange that they didn’t opt for an actor who could actually do her own singing; instead, Marisha Wallace provides this with great style. Hugh Bonneville is barely on screen as the banker Mr. Delacroix; one feels that the role could have provided more forward movement if written to be an antagonist, rather than a semi-supportive, minor player.  Ricky Martin is amusing if predictable as the voice of Don Juan Diego.

Jingle Jangle is a pleasant but mixed outing. It’s heart is absolutely in the right place and its messages of family, honesty, and perseverance are welcomed. But, with its convoluted plot and inconsistent pacing, it sadly won’t find a permanent place in annual visits.

Rated PG, Jingle Jangle: A Christmas Journey is now streaming on Netflix.

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Richard Jenkins, Debra Winger and Evan Rachel Wood in a scene from the film.

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

Currently streaming on demand, Kajillionaire is either a very bleak comedy or a humorously edgy drama. Both disturbing and honest, it is a measured film, taking its time, but it never loses the tension that is introduced from its very first moments. Credit for this goes to the clear vision and masterful creativity of writer-director Miranda July who is working with a company of perfectly cast actors.

Kajillionaire is the story of a family of con artists living a hand-to-mouth existence in California. Robert and Theresa Dyne (Richard Jenkins and Debra Winger) and their twenty-six-year-old daughter, Old Dolio (Evan Rachel Wood), are petty criminals with an emphasis on petty.

Richard Jenkins, Debra Winger and Evan Rachel Wood in a scene from the film.

Robert states flatly that he doesn’t want to be a “kajillionaire” — he’s very happy to just “skim.” Their crimes are predominantly minor, such as stealing from post office boxes or returning stolen goods. They perk-up at the possibility of the daughter earning $20 for covering a girl’s court-ordered attendance at a child-rearing class. They are minimalists in every sense of the word. Currently, they are three months behind on their rent — a $500 a-month office space connected to a soap factory that leaks bubbles into the living space at least once a day.

They are a codependent trio but are completely disconnected. Old Dolio is treated as an equal partner — she gets one third of the take — but strangely not as family. There is no sense of there ever having been parental guidance, interpersonal relationships, or love. Compared to the Dynes, the Kim family of Parasite are the Cleavers.

Everything changes when Old Dolio comes up with a scam that involves lost luggage, insurance, and a trip to New York.  On the return flight, the parents are seated with a gregarious young woman, Melanie (Gina Rodriguez), who they befriend and then enlist to aid them. Robert and Theresa take to her and begin treating Melanie as a daughter. The true dysfunction of this turns much darker as the film progresses, building up to a particularly uncomfortable encounter centered around a hot tub.    

Melanie, an optician’s assistant, is drawn to the family’s off-beat existence and proposes a job that involves finagling antiques out of her elderly clients. In one of the most powerful scenes in the film, a bedridden, dying man (Michael Twaine) asks them to make the sounds of a family. In a hideous lampoon of normalcy, they create idle chatter, underscored with the rattling of silverware and the playing of the piano.

In the meantime, Old Dolio becomes both intrigued by and jealous of Melanie. What starts off adversarial shifts to something almost undefinable, all hinging on a single word: “Hon.” What ensues is both uplifting and devastating as Old Dolio becomes aware of her family’s emotional bankruptcy. The climax is both surprising and inevitable.

Gina Rodriguez and Evan Rachel Wood in a scene from the film.

To be sure, the Dynes are not the colorful cons of Hollywood movies. These are cheaters of the lowest sort, alternating between a sort of manic assuredness and twitchy doubt, second guessing their choices in a life that is a perpetual scrabble. There are also bursts of paranoia that derail them, resulting in flashes of anger. In addition to the minor rip-offs, they are entering contests under various names, winning things that they can never use. They are the definition of survival at its meanest, dragging through their days. This near-deadness is most pronounced in the neglected and, ultimately, emotionally starved and abused daughter.

Jenkins is an odd mixture of alpha and bumbler, a destructive father from hell. And yet seemingly, he is unaware that he is being anything other than kind. He wears so many masks, it is impossible to tell which is the true Robert. It is a detailed performance that bears re-watching.

Winger, practically unrecognizable as Theresa, is the almost fanatically committed wife whose child is nothing more than an appendage. She sees Old Dolio as utilitarian — someone who works with the family. She believes that her daughter is incapable of feeling so invests not even the slightest warmth into their dealings. It is a chilling, understated performance.

Rodriguez brings both charm and reality to Melanie. She makes Melanie incredibly present, a wonderful contrast with the others’ absence. She manages to imbue every moment as an opportunity for growth. While easily engaged, she is not a fool. The light of kindness radiates in Rodriguez’s Melanie. “Most happiness comes from like, dumb things,” she says, while making Old Dolio pancakes, part of a strange agreement that drives the latter part of the film. She understands the joy in even the smallest kindnesses.

But, if it is anyone’s film, it belongs to Evan Rachel Wood. Her ability to portray the pain of the emotionally stunted Old Dolio permeates every moment. She is both incredibly graceful and agonizingly awkward. Her face during the faux family scene for the dying man is a study in heartbreak. Even in her complete stillness, she projects a lifetime of confusion and disappointment. The film is her journey to the awareness of her dangerous addiction to her family.

Kajillionaire is not an easy film to watch. Its edge is as sharp as a scalpel. It is a portrait of an incomplete family at its ugliest. And yet, underneath it all, July finds light and hope in a dark and disturbing world.

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Emma Roberts and Luke Bracey star in 'Holidate'. Photo courtesy of Netflix

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

“Boy, I hope there’s a really unfunny rom-com to kick-off the holiday season,” said no one ever. But that’s what the Netflix offering Holidate delivers. In place of wit, there is … not wit. Holidate is not even worthy of a deprecatingly clever simile.

The premise is simple and has probably been seen dozens of times. That isn’t necessarily a bad thing. There are many plots that have been revisited over the years. The goal, of course, is to find something fresh, unusual, or intriguing in the situation. Unfortunately, Tiffany Paulsen’s terribly clunky, crass script is further exposed by John Whitesell’s clumsy and pedestrian direction.

Emma Roberts and Luke Bracey in a scene from ‘Holidate’
Photo courtesy of Netflix

Holidate opens with Sloane (Emma Roberts) still reeling from her break-up six months prior. She is having a Christmas from hell in which she is plagued by her family’s constant harping on her singlehood. Sloane is offered advice from her man-chasing Aunt Susan (Kristin Chenoweth) to always have someone to date for the holiday. In Susan’s case, she has brought home a mall Santa.

Across town, Jackson (Luke Bracey) is having a nightmare of his own, spending the holiday with the family of a girl whom he has only dated three times. It is apparent that the young woman thinks that they are in a much more serious relationship, one that she has shared with her eager family.

The next day Sloane and Jackson meet on a department store return line. What comes of this chance encounter is an agreement to be “holidates” for New Year’s Eve. There is not a great deal of background given to either characters. He is a golf pro; she works remotely. She eats junk food; he does not. He’s Australian; she isn’t. And they’re off.

Freed of expectations, this “mismatched” couple has a good time on New Year’s Eve. There is a cute send-up of Dirty Dancing, evoking a smile if not a full-on laugh.   The evening ends awkwardly with Sloane deciding it isn’t worth pursuing.

On Valentine’s Day, Sloane runs into her ex with his new, younger girlfriend.  Jackson (who just happens to be walking by the store) rescues her from complete embarrassment by swooping in, pretending to be her significant other. Realizing that the situation will work for them, they agree to be friends without benefits, committing to all calendar celebrations for the foreseeable future.

The film now begins to traverse a year’s worth of holidays: St. Patrick’s Day, Easter, Cinco de Mayo, Mother’s Day, etc. Each seems to be centered around drinking and almost — but not quite — having sex. While their friendship grows, Sloane’s mother (Frances Fisher) is desperately trying to set her up with the new neighbor, nice guy doctor Faarooq (Manish Dayal).

Fourth of July is particularly eventful with Jackson having a finger blown off as the men launch M-80’s. Sloane takes him to the hospital (where the Faarooq happens to be on-call). His finger is re-attached. There are the stirring of sparks between Sloane and Jackson. Will they? Won’t they? Do we care?

Since this is a rom-com, they get their wires crossed, resulting in a crisis with a Labor Day wedding where they choose to bring other dates. Sloane takes the doctor; Jackson brings Aunt Susan. (The resulting aunt-doctor hookup at the wedding becomes a subplot that can be kindly described as cringeworthy.)

Halloween sees them taking their relationship to the next step. But not before a disgusting laxative encounter. Thanksgiving shows their divide, with a dramatic confrontation that aims for soul-searching but winds up to be just being embarrassing. And guess what happens at Christmas?

Emma Roberts and Kristin Chenoweth in a scene from ‘Holidate’

None of this would be a problem if the film showed a single spark of originality, charm, or warmth. Holidate instead is consistently tasteless — what is less than single entendre? Basically, it’s watered-down Hallmark with an R rating. A raunchy, crude comedy attempting to make a bigger, heartfelt statement. It achieves being the worst of both worlds. Occasionally, they seem to be sending up the genre but this just confuses and contradicts the majority of the film when they are “being real.” You can’t have it both ways. Or at least they can’t.

The problem is further acerbated by performances that lack subtlety and dimension. Emma Roberts is better than this. Of the cast, she comes across the strongest, but she was given a lot of action but little to play. Luke Bracey is handsome but stiff. Kristin Chenoweth, a truly wonderful performer, is painfully miscast as the vamp; every moment feels excruciatingly forced. If she took the role on to expand her range, she didn’t succeed. If she needed the paycheck, a Go Fund Me would have had more dignity.

The rest of the characters (mostly trope cooky family members) come and go but the director’s complete lack of vision gave no consistent style in which the actors could invest. As a bonus, there are the requisite precocious children who make adult observations and occasionally inappropriate comments.

In the final scene, there was one of maybe three genuinely funny moments in the movie. It involves a Christmas choir at the mall. But one bright note does not a symphony make just as ten clever seconds don’t erase and hour and forty minutes of vulgarity.

Spoiler Alert: Sloane and Jackson end up together. Now you don’t have to watch the movie. You’re welcome.

Holidate is now streaming on Netflix.

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Natalia Dyer and Donna Lynne Champlin in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Vertical Entertainment

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

It is the fall of 2000. It is a world of chunky cellphones, dial-up modems, AOL Instant Messaging, and VHS tapes. Alice (a mesmerizingly authentic Natalia Dyer) is a high school junior in a strict mid-western Catholic school. Written and directed with insight and an incredibly skilled hand, Karen Maine has created an engaging coming-of-age story, Yes, God, Yes. It is both laugh-out-loud funny and brutally honest.

The film opens with a teacher (the wonderfully dour Donna Lynne Champlin) passing out detentions and monitoring the hall like an avenging meter maid. This sets the tone for the emotionally claustrophobic  atmosphere in the school, where abstinence is taught and (seemingly) embraced by the student body. 

What comes to light very quickly is that Alice is the subject of an unsavory rumor about an occurrence at a recent party. The scandal spreads as Alice tries to quell the accusation that she doesn’t fully understand. She is both buoyed up and beaten down by her BFF, Laura (Francesca Reale, bringing just the right amount of acid to this borderline mean girl). Alice is also struggling with her burgeoning awareness of her own sexuality and desires, which further complicate the already challenging situation.

Natalia Dyer in a scene from the film.

The majority of the film takes place on a four-day Kirkos retreat, where the students go to connect with themselves and with their connection to God and their religion. It is here that Alice comes face-to-face with both the caring and sensitivity of some of the students as well as the hypocrisy that often comes with repression.

Guilt and gossip flower along with misinformation. There are some extreme moments and some jaw-dropping revelations. There is also terrific humor. After Alice is punished for holding onto her cellphone, one of the girls gives her a s’more from the campfire she missed: “We pretended each marshmallow was a mortal sin before burning it.”

Maine pulls no punches. She presents these people in all of their flaws. And that is the heart of the film. She creates people and therefore legitimate tension. These are not the cyphers and stereotypes found in many teen movies. Instead, there is an inherent truth in her reflection of this particular corner of the universe.

Not all is played as satirical attack; there are instances of genuine compassion. One of the students leading the retreat, Nina (a warmly present Alisha Boe), tells how she has always felt absent in her large family. It is a touching moment and her sharing is met with sympathy and understanding. Letters from their parents are read out loud. Again, they are not greeted with smirks and eye rolls but appreciated with less embarrassment than would be expected. These are sweet and kind flashes of welcomed contrast.

But even in the midst of this idyllic retreat of finding self, the vicious buzz continues to haunt and chase Alice, leading her to several less than generous choices. Ultimately, she takes some if not all the responsibility one would hope.

Timothy Simons (Veep), as Father Murphy, the spiritual leader of both school and retreat, dodges complete caricature. He has some very questionable actions but there is a sense that, more often than not, he is attempting to do the right thing for these children in his care. He is eventually confronted with his own contradictions but it is not presented as a revenge opportunity but more a look at his personal fallibility.

Alice receives the best and most honest answers when she escapes into a lesbian bar. It is owner Gina (Susan Blackwell, grounded and kind) who gives Alice the best advice she gets the entire film — before bringing her back safely to the retreat.

The entire cast is excellent and the young actors manage to come across as “kids,” even in some of the more excessive sections. But it is Natalia Dyer’s Alice who is the heart and heartbeat of the film. In her life, she is both heroine and her own worst enemy. And Dyer makes every moment work. 

Yes, God, Yes is not for everyone. It is crass in the way that young people are not always careful. It tells some unsavory truths. It is boundary-pushing and often cringe-inducing. But it is a beautiful, dimensional portrait of a genuine young person struggling in a real world.

Rated R, Yes, God, Yes is currently streaming on Netflix.

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Tyler Posey and Donald Sutherland find themselves in the middle of a zombie apocalypse. Photo courtesy of Lionsgate

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

Last week, I reviewed the movie Alone, a cat-and-mouse/abduction film. This week, we turn to Alone, a zombie apocalypse movie. This is not the Indian horror film Alone, which follows the angry spirit of a murdered conjoined twin. And it’s highly unlikely that it would be confused with the reality series Alone, that has been running since 2015.

So … this Alone (the zombie one) … is similar to the Korean film #Alive. This would make sense as #Alive’s screenplay was co-written by Matt Naylor, who provided the screenplay for Alone. Both seem to have been cribbed from the 2018 French film The Night Eats the World.

Which brings us back to Alone—the zombie apocalypse one. Director Johnny Martin and writer Matt Naylor have attempted to do something different, with mixed results. They get an A for effort and a B+ for creativity. The visual effects are okay if not spectacular; let’s say a B. Character development is weak even in its best moments — maybe a D+.

The film begins on day 42 of the apocalypse. Aidan (Tyler Posey, who appears in just about every frame of the film) has been video logging during this time, as he announces this to the camera. The next moment, he is seen trying hang himself. Then it flashes back to 42 days earlier, Aidan, sans beard, in bed with … someone. She sneaks out and is never heard from again. Clearly, she is not going to be a major player.

Donald Sutherland in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Lionsgate

He turns on the television to be greeted by the chilling Emergency Broadcast System.  Then all hell breaks loose. There are sounds of yelling and breaking glass; a helicopter crashes; people are running in the streets. A little girl is set upon by shrieking zombies.  His neighbor, Brandon (Robert Ri’chard), who he has never met, stumbles into his apartment; he was just attacked by his roommate. Thus, the set-up.

It is strange that it all happens at once — that there was no warning, no build-up. Especially as the talking heads on the television share that the virus is transmitted through the blood — scratches and bites.  You’d think there would have been some kind of change that led to total destruction … and not insta-zombies. But, these are the cards that we’re dealt.

Aidan realizes Brandon is infected and forces Brandon out as he transforms. He watches the destruction in his hall through the peephole and then just listens to the cries for help and the murderous attacks.

The next stretch involves the disintegration of the world as reflected in the one apartment building. Phone circuits go from busy to dead. Sirens. More yelling and screaming. The infected wander the halls, banging on doors. Aidan counts the days by marking his mirror with a pen. The last advice he gets from his parents before they are murdered (he hears this on a message) is to “Stay Alive.” He puts this on a post-it.

More information is eked out about the virus. The infected only eat living flesh that is uninfected. But, and most interestingly, the zombies are aware of their state. They alternate between attacking and begging for death. It is a struggle between the disease’s power and the victim’s residual humanity. At any given point, they could be demanding “Come here” or warning “Stay way” or begging “Kill me.” This is unique in zombie myth and lore and separates it from the shuffling, brain-eating corpses that have been more prevalent in past outings. There is also something about mob mentality that enters into it but it’s not really clarified.

The power goes out and food is low. Aidan kills a zombie and stuffs it in his bathroom crawlspace, wedging it shut with a surfboard. (Later, the same surfboard will be seen in two other places before he returns to the bathroom where it somehow had remained.)

Eventually, the timeline catches up to where we started. Just as he is about to kill himself, he spots a woman (Summer Spiro) — clearly alive and healthy — in the building across from his. What follows is probably the sole meet-cute in any zombie movie. And, as a bonus, she is surprisingly well-groomed given the whole end-of-the-world thing going on. (Well, maybe a few split-ends but what can you expect?) They begin to communicate with hand-written signs. She is Eva. Aidan and Eva. He holds up: “U R the 1st person I’ve seen.” The Aidan-Eva/Adam-Eve thing is not exactly subtle.

What ensues is their desire to connect and to be together, and it leads him to explore various ways of getting to her. It is during this foray that he meets Edward (the always intriguing Donald Sutherland). Is he good, bad, or just peculiar? The theme of “You take care of the people you love” comes out in an unusual way. Again, the creators’ approach is different and enriches both the encounter and the narrative.

There is mid-range gore which is not excessive but certainly present. (With this amount of ongoing and unchecked carnage and scattered corpses, there would probably be a lot more rot.) There are relatively few jump-out scares, which speaks well to the filmmakers’ restraint, and a handful of well-staged and tense mini-battles.

Where Alone stumbles the most is on actually understanding who these people are. Aidan offers a few pieces of himself that seem to be counter-indicated by everything around him. Eva is barely given a chance to show any range or depth. Both Posey and Spiro do the best they can, but we only invest in them as they are pretty much the last people on earth.

Alone is not the allegory of the low-budget but ground-breaking Night of the Living Dead. It doesn’t strive for the simultaneously introspective and epic nature of the adaptions of Richard Matheson’s I Am Legend (adapted three times). And it lacks the style and kinetic energy of 28 Days Later. But it does try to do something different. For effort and novelty, let’s give it a B- which is not the worst entry in the genre.

Rated R, Alone is streaming on demand.

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Jules Willcox in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Magnet Releasing

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

Alone could only be a labeled a “new” thriller in that it was just released. Nothing else could be considered new in this predictable and ultimately unsatisfying game of hunter and hunted. John Hyams has directed Mattias Olsson’s by-the-numbers screenplay with standard tropes and cliches.

From the beginning, everything is made to seem ominous. Even the packing of a U-Haul — dresser, chair, bicycle — is made to seem dark. When the protagonist, Jessica Swanson, is unable to take her potted plant, we know we are in dangerous territory. Her first word is “Sorry” — a response to honking horns as she sits at a changed light. “Sorry” doesn’t begin to describe what is ahead for her.

After five minutes of driving, the screen goes black and a spindly “The Road” appears.  This is the first of multiple titles that have been added for apparently no reason other than to give a certain pretension to an otherwise standard horror film.

On “The Road,” she is nearly driven off by a car that slows down, then speeds up, causing a near miss with an oncoming truck. Shortly after, a call to her father reveals that she left her apartment for “a reason.” In the motel, she scrolls through photos on her tablet, showing her with her late husband. Later, in a phone call with her mother, the “reason” is revealed to be six months in the past.

The next morning, the man who tried to run her off the road, introduces himself and apologizes. Everything is done to make him look both benign and frightening. Sandy hair, huge moustache, aviator frames. Chatty and pleasant with his arm in a sling, he’s just asking too many questions. 

Either one of two directions are inevitable.  It will be a game of cat-and-mouse on the highway or she will be abducted. A flat tire is the catalyst for the latter course. He attacks and drugs her. 

Marc Menchaca plays a creepy serial killer in ‘Alone.’ Photo courtesy of Magnet Releasing

When she wakes up, she is locked in an empty basement with morning light streaming through the single, barred window. When he finally enters the room, she begs for her life. She promises if he lets her go; she won’t say anything. His response is an off-hand “Do you think you’re the first one to say that?,” one of the few genuinely chilling moments. 

It is in captivity that we find out her late husband’s fate. The imprisonment doesn’t last long. She escapes and the rest of the movie is spent with the man in pursuit of Jessica.

What is revealed, in a cleverly pedestrian call from home, is that he is not a backwoods recluse but a husband and father with a deadly and perverse secret life. However, his attempts at psychological torture are clumsy and almost laughable. Just past the halfway mark, he is given a great big mess of a monologue that borders on parody.  Better he should have stayed the strong silent type. Well, weird silent type anyway. 

What works is Jessica doesn’t make the classic scream queen decisions. She does everything she can to keep herself safe, including calling 911. She is as resourceful as she can be, brave, and pretty smart.

Jules Willcox is strong as Jessica. Both in action and in stillness, she seems completely connected to her surroundings. She brings both grounding and believability to her performance.

Marc Menchaca is less successful as the man. At first, the “aww, shucks” quality works but his shift into villain is mechanical and uninspired. For a man leading a dual life, one would expect him to be have a intriguing persona.

The film is basically a two-hander.  Anthony Heald, a fine actor in all he does, makes the most of a minor role as a friendly hunter. While it’s just a bit longer than a cameo, it does lend a bit of texture to the extended chase.

So much is played in the dark that it’s shadow and shift and voices. In addition, every sound is amplified, including the placing of a gasoline hose into the tank, the rattle of the car, the creaking of the trees in the wind. The soundtrack provides every emphasis and sting that could possibly be squeezed in.

The movie is not without tension and, overall, it is decently shot. The problem is that it seems interminable. Since there is little character development, it is hard to invest and, in the long run, feels laborious. There is a great deal of filler with wandering through forest and hills, all darkly verdant and overgrown. 

The final confrontation has an interesting twist with a cell phone — but it’s all just too late in coming. Alone is probably better left … alone.

Rated R, Alone is streaming on demand.

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