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Lacey Chabert in a scene from 'Hot Frosty.' Photo courtesy of Netflix

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

Christmas is a time of giving: gifts, good cheer, and kind wishes. Christmas is also the time for an endless parade of holiday movies launched by every channel and streaming service. And, like a handful of coal, Netflix stuffed our stockings with the one-note, no-joke Hot Frosty. 

Writer Russell Hainline’s premise is simple. Depressed widow Kathy Barrett (Lacey Chabert), owner of Kathy’s Kafé, lives in the town of Hope Springs (subtle). Still grieving over the death of her husband to cancer, her life is falling apart: the roof leaks, the heat does not work, and she no longer cooks for herself, represented by a counter of empty takeout containers. However, other than that, she seems to be doing okay. Let’s call it grief light. 

Lacey Chabert in a scene from ‘Hot Frosty’ with Dustin Milligan. Photo courtesy of Netflix

Her friend, Mel (Sherry Miller), runs Reclaimed Rags, a second-hand clothing store across from the café. Mel gives Kathy a scarf with the “wise” advice: “You’ll never find the warmth unless you venture out into the cold.” Kathy graciously accepts the scarf but then notices that between two scarved snowmen is an Adonis-like ice sculpture without one. Feeling generous(?), she wraps the scarf around the sculpture, bringing it/him (Dustin Milligan) to life. (Don’t worry—the scarf covers the naughty bits.)

On the plus side, the adult fairy tale kicks into gear very quickly, without much backstory or exposition (or explanation). On the negative side, the adult fairy tale kicks into gear very quickly, without much backstory or exposition (or explanation). The writing is puerile, and Jerry Ciccoritti’s direction club fisted.

The animated sculpture crashes into Reclaimed Rags and steals some clothing, including a vest with the name “Jack.” Thus, he is called “Jack.” The next morning, Kathy finds Jack standing in front of the diner. Thinking he might need help—given his strange behavior—she brings him inside … because that is what one does with psychotics who say, “I was made of snow, now I’m made of not snow.” (Scintillating dialogue.) When he claims, “I’ve never had food before,” one questions why she does not call for help or simply runs screaming into the street. Instead, she takes him to the local doctor, Dottie (Katy Mixon Greer), who concludes that he might be the snowman he claims to be (for this, she went to medical school?). They agree not to take him to the police because the sheriff tends to overreact. 

Kathy moves him into her house, and the newly sentient Jack immediately falls for her. The rest of the interminable film focuses on their growing relationship and his ability to learn anything by watching television. (This includes the discovery that vampires are afraid of crosses. Very Christmasy.)

An unpleasant and fairly ugly encounter with a snow-banked cougar, Jane (Lauren Holly), concludes with Jack’s innocent punchline, “Do you want me to get behind you and push?” Fortunately, this thread goes nowhere besides landing Jack a maintenance job at the middle school. The majority of his work is decorating the gym for the winter dance.

The film is a mix of styles—like a Christmas gift bag of assorted pointy objects. (Each is different, but all are painful in their own ways.) The occasional joke that lands is a holiday miracle. (Though a Mean Girls reference is pretty smart.) There are two montages because one is not nauseatingly enough. 

A grating subplot focuses on the sheriff hunting for the person who smashed the clothing store’s glass. The officer is a parody of a spoof of a send-up of a take-off on small-town law enforcement. In a film of mostly poor moments, the usually hilarious Craig Robinson is saddled with some of the most eggnog-curdling dialogue in this (or any) film: “You can’t buy me breakfast. It might influence the investigation.” (Hilarious.) Joe Lo Truglio’s deputy sheriff makes Barney Fife look like Hamlet’s Horatio. The café/ice cube scene might rank as the unfunniest bit in holiday history.

Chabert and Milligan work well together, play it straight enough, and do not lack charm. But the material is so painfully underdeveloped and wrong-headed that they cannot mine a moment of tension in the ninety minutes. His declarations like “I still don’t understand how all of this is happening, but I am so glad you were the one who found me” are only matched by his constant statement of “I love you.” Will she say it back? Can she? Is she ready? (Spoiler alert. Yes.)

Corralling the underdeveloped townspeople, the film builds to a lazy finale—a Frosty the Snowman/E.T./It’s a Wonderful Life rip-off. (Yes, they can claim homage to the last one, but it is not.) A strong cast fails to shovel this slushy mess. (Even the outtake bloopers are not funny.)

Perhaps the film has created a new sub-genre: the Frenetically Lugubrious Christmas Fantasy Rom-Uncom. (Ho-Ho-No, Thank you.) Next year, instead of holiday fare like Hot Frosty, Netflix, please just give us the cheese-of-the month club.

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Tom Hanks and Robin Wright in a scene from 'Here'. Photo courtesy of Sony Pictures Entertainment

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

In 1989, Raw published Richard McGuire’s six-page comic strip, Here. The thirty-five panels followed a single location but spanned 500,957,406,073 B.C. to 2033 A.D. Often, the panels contained other images within, depicting multiple time frames simultaneously. In 2014, Pantheon Books published McGuire’s full-length graphic novel. The 304 pages traced the same space from 3,000,500,000 B.C. to A.D. 22,175, concentrating on the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, predominantly focusing on the living room of a house built in 1907.

As a senior thesis project in 1991, students from Rochester Institute of Technology’s Department of Film and Video created a six-minute film of the original comic. An immersive V.R. film based on the full-length novel was designed and produced by British Fifty Nine Productions, under the direction of Lysander Ashton, with music by Anna Meredith.  

Now, director Robert Zemeckis brings his adaptation to the big screen. The prolific Zemeckis broke out with the 1978 I Wanna Hold Your Hand. His work includes Romancing the Stone, the Back to the Future trilogy, Who Framed Roger Rabbit, Death Becomes Her, and Contact, among others. His 1994 Forest Gump won six Academy Awards, including Best Picture, Best Director, and Best Actor (for Tom Hanks). Over the years, Zemeckis has teamed with Hanks on Pinocchio, The Polar Express, and Cast Away. Here reunites Hanks with his Gump co-star, Robin Wright. 

Zemeckis (who co-wrote the screenplay with Eric Roth) uses the basic idea and framework of the novel but instead chooses to highlight on the twentieth-century Young family that occupies the house. While still weaving back and forth through time, it eventually settles into a more chronological telling of the one family.

The first eight minutes progress through thousands of years of history (dinosaurs, volcanic eruption or asteroids, Ice Age), but then Here slows down to offer a handful of earlier years, including a native American couple and their tribe, as well as a view of the house across the street where Benjamin Franklin’s son, the loyalist William, lived. Of the former, the indigenous people seem cast from a 1960s history museum diorama. The late eighteenth-century Revolutionary War moments feel like a community theatre production of 1776. 

The earliest inhabitants of the house, the Harters (Michelle Dockery and Gwilym Lee), serve little function except establishing occupancy and a nod to the Influenza Epidemic of 1918 (with a parallel later with the COVID pandemic). A slight subplot about aviation grates. The Beekmans follow—Stella (Ophelia Lovibond) and her inventor husband, Leo (David Fynn), who provide a humorous and interesting diversion.

Zemeckis trades the book’s panoramic and epic nature to emphasize the Young family’s day-to-day struggles. Recently discharged from the service, World War II veteran Al Young (Paul Bettany) purchases the house for his wife, Rose (Kelly Reilly). Here, they raise their family—two boys and a girl. The oldest, Richard (Hanks), impregnates his girlfriend Margaret (Wright) on the living room sofa. The couple weds, taking up residence in the house. What follows is years of joys and sorrows, trials and tribulations—marriage and children, illness and death. 

Throughout their story, flashes of the earlier inhabitants recur, as well as the Harris family (Nikki Amuka-Bird and Nicholas Pinnock), who take the house when Richard sells it. Perhaps Zemeckis is trying to draw parallels between these disparate worlds—but, unlike McGuire—he does not succeed.  

Here veers towards the saccharine when it is trying to be its most sincere. The Hallmark (card, not network) feel hovers around most of the stiff dialogue. Instead of simple, the exchanges feel simplistic. The messages about love, family, dreams, art, and loss seem predictable and lack anything bordering on revelatory. The best-landing moments can be attributed to the Young quartet and the inherent honesty in their performances, even when saddled with two- and even one-dimensional material.

From a visual standpoint, Here is almost a one-camera set-up. We view the living room straight on as it evolves and shifts, often picture-in-picture(-in picture). The effect alternates between clever and precious. Sometimes, the entire experience feels like Disney’s Carousel of Time. And speaking of Disney, the A.I. intelligence Metaphysic Life, used for face-swapping and de-aging the actors in real-time (instead of post-production), presents a young Tom Hanks looking more like the puppet Pinocchio than his real boy counterpart. 

In the end, the film works and doesn’t work. For some audiences, they will embrace a concept taken to its fullest and a sometimes touching family saga. For others, Here is a gimmick with a center that is human, but not inspiring, tapping into soap opera plots that overstay the hundred-minute running time. Gertrude Stein said of her hometown, Oakland, “There is no there there.” Ultimately, with Zemeckis’s film, there is no Here there either.

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

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Grace Delaney, Andrew Garfield and Florence Pugh in a scene from the film. Photo by Peter Mountain/A24

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

To describe the plot of a non-linear story chronologically seems to be counterintuitive. At the very least, the approach undermines the essence of the creator’s intent in selecting the structure. That is true in the cast of We Live in Time. Director John Crowley (Brooklyn) and screenwriter Nick Payne (the Tony Award-nominated Constellations) constructed (or deconstructed) the decade-long relationship of Tobias Durand (Andrew Garfield) and Almut Brühl (Florence Pugh). 

As a film, it easily ticks all the boxes of romantic drama: a meet-cute (in this case, she hits him with her car, only causing a slight trauma), courtship, struggle, illness, careers, frustrations, fertility, and family. There are dates and montages, lingering looks, and tasteful scenes of physicality. These well-known and well-worn tropes play with sensitivity and style, even from a standard approach. But in this case, by ignoring the standard narrative and presenting the story as almost a shuffled stack of photos, the often peripatetic tapestry provides greater depth. 

Almut’s second bout with ovarian cancer is presented first, giving an unusual resonance to both her first illness and the birth of their child, Ella (Grace Delaney, who manages to be adorable without being precocious). 

The individual details—she is a former figure skater turned Bavarian fusion chef/restaurant owner, and he is a Weetabix representative—are handled smartly. At the beginning of the timeline, Tobias is on the cusp of a divorce; the issue of a pen to sign the papers is simultaneously hilarious and poignant. Nothing solely functions as a punchline, and every element serves as textural development. 

Central to much of the later conflict is whether Almut will enter the Bocuse d’Or, one of the most prestigious international cooking competitions. Wedding preparations, along with chemo treatment, are deftly threaded. 

The “what if’ element of life choices lands differently when you know what will happen. Something as simple as how to properly crack an egg or why one should get a child a dog takes on entirely new dimensions when presented from multiple time perspectives. The film even knows when to allow rom-com elements—an aggressive extraction from an overly tight parking space or a visit to an amusement park. Somehow, the filmmakers manage to elevate the predictable. 

Crowley has assembled an excellent cast. Adam James, as Almut’s former boss and mentor, Simon Maxson, hits the right notes, reflecting the pressured world of high-end cuisine competition. Lee Braithwaite is appropriately awkward as Jade, Almut’s commis (novice chef), who assists her. 

Nikhil Parmar and Kerry Godliman elevate the convenience store workers who assist with Ella’s birth, making them real and honest rather than playing the scene for easy laughs. Lucy Briers makes the oncologist a person rather than a plot delivery system.

But at heart, We Live in Time is a two-hander. While the ensemble strongly supports the principal characters, it is the story of Tobias and Almut. Perhaps the most overused and indefinable term applied to performances is “chemistry.” However, whatever “chemistry” actually is, Garfield and Pugh have it. Their attraction and connection are wholly displayed, and their frustrations and disappointments are believable. The depth of the relationship never feels false, precious, or theatrical. They achieve that rare symbiosis by simply being present with each other. 

Garfield makes Tobias an anxious, occasionally twitchy type A. He is a notetaker and highly emotional, with feelings always bubbling to the surface. In contrast, Pugh’s Almut is a portrait of stillness and silence, intensity that breaks into a smile of gentle joy or erupts into a seething, low-grade anger. They are perfectly complementary.

The fact that the audience always knows not just where they are but when they are is a tribute to Crowley, Payne, and a gifted design team that manages to ground every moment in detailed reality. The film is beautifully paced. Unlike the turgid It Ends with Us (that could have been timed by a calendar), the playing time of just under two hours never flags.

We Live in Time offers a love story told in an unusual and appropriately challenging way. Life’s underlying interconnectedness and complexity are presented with dark humor, wit, and humanity, with two powerful, memorable central performances.

Rated R, the film is now playing in local theaters.

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Tony Hale and Anna Kendrick in a scene from the film. Photo from Netflix

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

In the world of truth-is-stranger-than-fiction, Netflix’s Woman of the Hour tackles the story of serial killer Rodney Alcala and his September 13, 1978, appearance on The Dating Game. Directed by Anna Kendrick and written by Ian McDonald, the film tells the story through bachelorette Cheryl Bradshaw (played by Kendrick), who selected him, focusing on her experience on the show and dealing with systemic sexism. The film premiered on September 8, 2023, to a positive response at the Toronto Film Festival.

Actor Bradshaw scrapes by in Los Angeles, attempting to make her way into film and television. “I’m working very hard and accomplishing very little,” she reflects. After a particularly depressing audition, her agent gets her a spot on the popular game show. Reluctantly, Bradshaw agrees to appear. The film is mostly taken up with the time from her arrival at the studio through her segments on the show. Intercut are several of Alcala’s horrific rape and murders, beginning with one in Wyoming in 1977, which opens the film.

During the show’s taping, Bradshaw goes rogue, changing the questions to more pointed and revealing interrogations of the three bachelors. The first proves to be a bit of a fool, the second inappropriate, with Alcala coming off as smooth, witty, and a touch thoughtful. 

Bradshaw chooses Alcala, and the second bachelor warns her not to go near him. After leaving the studio, Bradshaw and Alcala have a few drinks in a nearby bar. Quickly, Bradshaw realizes that there is something off about him and exits the bar with him in pursuit. She is only saved by a group of men coming out of the studio.

In her directorial debut, Kendrick proves to be first-rate. She instinctually knows what to show and when to pull back, maintaining a constant tension in the film’s brisk ninety-minute running time.

Sometimes, Alcala’s crimes are shown in all their horror; other times, they are suggested by a sun-drenched landscape with just the sound of the victim. The film is spot-on as an indictment of toxic masculinity and misogyny leading to violence. In both the casual dismissal of women to the horrific rape and torture, Kendrick creates a taught, unflinching, and brutal film. Even the use of Alcala’s photography, particularly the enhanced sound of the shutter clicks, adds to the exceptional storytelling. Additionally, the film captures the visual and auditory essence of 1970s California.

Some of the film’s wisdom is courtesy of the make-up artist, Marilyn (a very strong Denalda Williams): “Is it possible to get a guy in this town who isn’t a total maniac?” Later, she follows this up: “The question beneath the question. Which of you will hurt me?” Her casual statement delivers a wallop and succinctly but pointedly expresses the overall thesis.

As a true crime docudrama, Woman of the Hour is less successful. McDonald has fictionalized a great deal for storytelling purposes, and one must at least pause to consider the validity of the choices. Most viewers will take the film at face value without looking into the actual facts and history. Since the film is short, much information is changed or left out.

The only subplot deals with an audience member, Laura (Nicolette Robinson), recognizing Alcala as the man who most likely murdered her friend after a beach party encounter. The way the security guard deals with her accusation is chilling. Unfortunately, Laura is a fiction. This is one of many introduced changes and additions without indicating where liberties were taken. In reality, Bradshaw stuck to the innuendo-laden questions, and the bachelors were dissimilar to the film’s counterparts.

Kendrick, a first-rate actor, shows dimension, fear, strength, and resolve. Always watchable, she delivers at every moment. Daniel Zovatto succeeds in making Alcala wholly plausible—a sadistic, dangerous, and threatening narcissist who knows how to turn on the charm. Tony Hale is appropriately sleazy and short-tempered as the gameshow host Ed Burke, based on Jim Lange. Some of the finest moments belong to Autumn Best as the runaway, Amy, who survives Alcala’s attack. Her raw performance resonates to her final cut-off scream. (However, the reality of the runaway’s story is very different than that offered in the film.)

At the time of his appearance on The Dating Game, Alcala was responsible for the murder of five women and the attempted murder of eight-year-old Tali Shapiro; he was on the FBI’s 10 Most Wanted Fugitives List. He had served thirty-four months for child molestation and spent two-and-a-half years in prison for giving drugs to a thirteen-year-old girl. 

Because there were no background checks—or vetting of any kind—Alcala easily landed a spot on the show. Two years after his Dating Game appearance, Alcala was convicted of the murder of twelve-year-old Robin Samsoe and sentenced to death. The overturned verdict caused a 1986 retrial, where he was found guilty and sentenced to death (the ruling was overturned in 2011). While remaining on California’s death row, he died at the age of natural causes at the age of seventy-seven. Some of this information is presented in the final scroll, but most are not. Alcala was directly linked to eight murders, but his actual crimes could have encompassed up to one hundred and thirty victims. 

Those looking for a detailed account of Alcala’s crimes should seek the three-part documentary series Dating Death. However, viewers open to more flexible telling will find that Woman of the Hour viscerally lays bare both the killer and danger of a hyper-toxic macho culture.

Rated R, the film is now streaming on Netflix.

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‘Wicked’ heads to the big screen on November 22. Photo courtesy of Universal Pictures

By Tim Haggerty and Jeffrey Sanzel

Looking for entertainment? Distraction? Introspection? This fall’s crop of new films offers a wide range of possibilities, from documentaries and biopics to comedy, horror and sequels.

WOLFS (September 20) Two professional “fixers (Brad Pitt and George Clooney) discover they are hired for the same job. While seemingly a throwback to an early time, the star power makes this a top choice for an evening of good old-fashioned escape. Rated  R

A DIFFERENT MAN (September 20) Sebastian Stan plays Edward, an actor with neurofibromatosis who is cured of his facial disfigurement by an experimental surgery. But the change turns out to be a mixed blessing. Adam Pearson, who has neurofibromatosis, gives one of the year’s most compelling performances. Rated  R

LEE (September 27) This biopic includes an all-star cast, led by Kate Winslet as Lee Miller, the model-turned-photographer, whose photos of World War II—especially the Nazi concentration camps—changed the way the world viewed war. In addition to Winslet, the cast includes Andy Samberg, Alexander Skarsgard, and Marion Cotillard. Rated  R

MEGALOPOLIS (September 27) After decades of development, Francis Ford Coppola offers an epic tale of a crumbling fictional empire that reflects the contemporary United States. A visionary (Adam Driver) dreams of a utopian society in this massive undertaking that includes Giancarlo Esposito and Shia LeBeouf in drag. Rated  R

WILL & HARPER (September 27) Will Ferrell first met Harper Steele when the two joined “Saturday Night Live,” and they remained close friends and collaborators for nearly three decades. When Harper came out as a trans woman in 2022, they embarked on a road trip —creating a film that reflects how the country views the LGBTQ+ community. Rated  R

JOKER: FOLIE A DEUX (October 4) The much anticipated/dreaded sequel shows Joaquin Phoenix in his unique take on the infamous villain, joined by Lady Gaga as Harley Quinn, the Joker’s partner in crime. And, apparently, it is a musical. Rated  R

THE OUTRUN (October 4) The great Saoirse Ronan portrays writer Amy Liptrot in this adaptation of the latter’s memoir of addiction and redemption from London to the Scottish Isles. Rated  R

PIECE BY PIECE (October 11) Filmmaker Morgan Neville presents a documentary on the life of musician Pharrell Williams, the creator of “Happy” and “Get Lucky.” The twist? Neville tells Williams’ story via LEGOs. Rated PG

SATURDAY NIGHT (October 11) The Saturday Night Live origin story focuses on creating the extraordinary show’s first episode. As producer Lorne Michaels, Gabrielle LaBelle heads a company that includes Willem Dafoe, Dylan O’Brien, Cooper Hoffman, Finn Wolfhard, Lamorne Morris, J.K. Simmons, and Nicholas Braun. Rated  R

RUMOURS (October 18) World leaders get lost in a hallucinogenic forest the night before the annual G7 summit. The bizarre premise shifts into a survivalist turn. Cate Blanchett, Alicia Vikander, Denis Ménochet, Nikki Amuka-Bird, and Charles Dance appear in Canadian filmmaker Guy Maddin’s startling outing. Rated  R

SMILE 2 (October 18) The Halloween season would be incomplete without a horror sequel—in this case, the 2022 hit about an entity that feeds on trauma and causes people to grin maniacally. It is a good bet that this will not be a one-off follow-up but, instead, the launch of a new franchise. Rated  R

THE NICKEL BOYS (October 25) Documentarian RaMell Ross wrote and directed this adaptation of Colson Whitehead’s Pulitzer Prize-winning novel chronicling a 1960s reform school, suggested by the Dozier School, the brutal and infamous real-life institution. Rated  PG-13

HERE (November 1) Forrest Gump veterans Tom Hanks and Robin Wright reunite with director Robert Zemeckis in this high-concept story that focuses on one patch of ground over thousands of years—from ancient civilization to modern-day suburbs. Rated  PG-13

GLADIAT0R 2 (November 22) Ridley Scott’s sword-and-sandal sequel to his 2000 Oscar-winner presents Paul Mescal as the adult Lucius Verus (nephew of Joaquin Phoenix’s Commodus). He is joined by Connie Nielsen, Denzel Washington, Pedro Pascal, and I, Claudius star Sir Derek Jacobi. Rated  R

THE PIANO LESSON (November 22) Denzel Washington’s commitment to presenting August Wilson’s Century Cycle plays continues with the playwright’s 1987 drama about a feud over a piano representing a family’s history. If it is half as good as “Fences,” this promises to be one of the best fall films. Rated  R

WICKED (November 22) The first part of the adaptation of the long-running Broadway musical comes to the big screen, with Cynthia Erivo as Elphaba, the woman who will become the Wicked Witch of the West. Ariana Grande joins her as her frenemy, G(a)linda, and Jeff Goldblum as the Wizard of Oz. Rated  PG-13

MOANA 2 (November 27) Disney’s 2016 animated hit gets a follow-up in “further adventures of,” featuring original voices Auli’i Cravalho and Dwayne Johnson. Rated  PG

MUFASA: THE LION KING (December 6) A prequel to “The Lion King,” director Barry Jenkins tells the tale of Simba’s late father Mufasa and how he became king of the jungle. Rated  PG-13

NOSFERATU (December 25) Robert Eggers (The Witch, The Lighthouse) helms the second remake of F.W. Murnau’s 1922 film, the first cinematic telling of Dracula. Bill Skarsgard dons the vampiric cloak of Count Orlock with Lily-Rose Depp, the object of his desire. Rated  R

This article originally appeared in TBR News Media’s Harvest Times supplement on Sept. 12.

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Wynona Ryder and Michael Keaton reprise their roles in the 'Beetlejuice' sequel. Photo courtesy of Warner Bros.

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

The concept of objectivity in a review is nearly, if not completely, impossible. Yet reviewers often avoid using “I” in their analyses. In this case, I am breaking the rule for context: I did not see Beetlejuice (1988) until last week. I knew that viewing the original was necessary, but also felt it only fair to be forthcoming of my lack of nostalgia in connection to a film that many hold with fond memories. So, I judged a film made over thirty years ago to evaluate its sequel. End of “I.”

Michael Keaton reprise his role in the ‘Beetlejuice’ sequel.
Photo courtesy of Warner Bros.

Beetlejuice (1988) garnered mostly positive reviews upon its release, receiving multiple nominations and a handful of awards. Tim Burton, whose previous film, Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure, had become a cult favorite, directed a script by Michael McDowell and Warren Skaaren. 

Over the years, it has been labeled a “comedy classic.” Viewing it three and a half decades later, the film seems quaint and a bit creaky, not so much offbeat but slightly pressed zaniness, and almost reminiscent of The Canterville Ghost. Some design elements foreshadow Tim Burton’s later and more mature, refined visions. 

Michael Keaton, as the titular demon “bio-exorcist,” Betelgeuse, appeared in a mere seventeen minutes. Beetlejuice possesses a sweetness and charm if a bit light on substance. Over the years, multiple sequel attempts (Beetlejuice in Love, Beetlejuice Goes Hawaiian) were shelved for various reasons. 

Tim Burton returns to the director’s chair, this time with a screenplay by Alfred Gough and Miles Millar, and Keaton, Winona Ryder, and Catherine O’Hara reprise their original roles. The now grown-up Goth daughter, Lydia (Ryder), returns to Winter River after the unexpected death of her father, Charles Deetz.

Lydia, now host of the talk show Ghost House, struggles with her rebellious teenage daughter, Astrid (Jenna Ortega). In the attic of the Deetz home, Astrid discovers the town model and accidentally opens the portal to the afterlife. 

The cast of ‘Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice’

The film contains enough plot threads for half a dozen movies, but none are fully realized. At the center is the conflict between Lydia and Astrid over Lydia’s failed marriage to Astrid’s father, Richard (Santiago Cabrera), who died in South America after the divorce. Lydia struggles with her engagement to her television producer, Rory (Justin Theroux). 

Betelgeuse is hunted by his ex-wife, the soul-sucking witch, Delores (Monica Bellucci), who poisoned him before he murdered her with an axe. Another branch is Jeremy (Arthur Conti), Astrid’s love interest, who is not quite what he seems. Add to these the ghost detective, Wolf Jackson (Willem Dafoe), a second-rate action star with a new career post-life.

While this promises a rich spectrum of opportunities, the results are thin and underdeveloped. The movie oddly manages to be chaotically frenetic yet simultaneously turgid. The hundred-and-four minutes seem at least an hour longer. 

There are funny spots and clever moments—an ode to the “Day-O” of the first movie, a joke involving Richard Marx’s “Right Here Waiting,” a Soul Train bit (that stays too long in the station), and even a smart Newhart reference. 

The Betelgeuse-Delores history plays perfectly as a subtitled Italian Art film by way of Mario Bava. But these moments get lost among jokes belabored to the point of losing any humor. 

One senses that the script meetings were mutual admiration societies in which the writers and director greeted every idea with joy and no bit left behind. 

Tonally, the film is all over the place. Winter River feels less like the idyllic Mayberry of the original and more like Halloween’s dread-steeped Haddonfield. The delightful Catherine O’Hara plays a milder version of her genius Schitt’s Creek creation, Moira Rose (including a sly parody of The Crows Have Eyes 2). Ryder seems uncomfortable in the role, not sure where the teen Lydia left off and the adult began. Keaton delivers an identical performance—logically, as the character is not about growth. But most of his jokes are either gross or … well, gross. 

With Sylvia Sidney’s and Glen Shadix’s passing, the film lost two of the original’s most interesting characters—Juno and Otho Fenlock. The Maitland’s—Alec Baldwin and Geena Davis—are also absent—dismissed in a single line about a loophole that freed them. While they killed off patriarch Charles Deetz (the disgraced Jeffrey Jones), his image and presence remain—first as a Claymation character, then as an image on his grave, and finally as a headless talking corpse. 

The film’s major bright spot is Ortega. With shades of her Wednesday Addams, she manages to avoid sulky teenager and creates the character’s angst and frustration without losing the warmth. She is completely sincere and wholly watchable, elevating the performances around her.

Beetlejuice Beetlejuice is clearly a much-anticipated movie. Much like Barbie, many audience members wore t-shirts celebrating the “event-ness,” with Keaton’s image or catchphrases from the film or even shirts mimicking Betelgeuse’s stripes. Unlike Barbie, in the end, Beetlejuice Beetlejuice contributes little to its own—or any cinematic—history.

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

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Naomi Ackie in a scene from 'Blink Twice.' Photo courtesy of Amazon MGM Studios

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

After nearly twenty years of high-profile performances (including multiple franchises), actor Zoë Kravitz makes a first-rate directorial debut with Blink Twice. 

Channing Tatum and Naomi Ackie; below, Ackie in a scene from the film.
Photo by Carlos Somonte, Amazon MGM Studios

Kravitz collaborated on the screenplay with E.T. Feigenbaum, a writer from her 2020 Hulu series, High Fidelity. They have created an interesting, edgy, slightly over-long film that nods to The Most Dangerous Game and, more recently, The Hunt. Blink Twice focuses on intertwining issues of memory and power, but the foremost thread is the abuse of women—specifically by rich, white men. While in this context taken to the extreme, the film makes the point no less honest and valuable. 

The opening image of Frida (Naomi Ackie) scrolling through her phone while sitting on the commode perfectly presents her dead-end life. “I need a f— vacation,” she says. This prescient statement provides layers of pay-off.

She and her best friend, Jess (Arrested Development’s Alia Shawkat, in a grounded performance), cater-wait at tech billionaire Slater King’s (Channing Tatum) pretentious high-end gala. After a “meet cute”—that is anything but—King invites the pair to his island. Arriving by private jet, the entourage of King and his buddies and a gathering of young, attractive women land in paradise for days of eating, drinking, bathing, and drugs. Literally, there is “a tsunami of champagne.” 

Stripped of any outside world connection (including the ubiquitous cell phones), continual and unchecked hedonism ensues. The unbridled existence is emphasized by the women’s apparel, diaphanous white dresses provided by their host; these further King’s bacchanalian environment. For nearly forty minutes, Kravitz presents endless days of relaxation, meals of detailed extremes, and nights of excess. 

While the view of no one wanting the trip to end, Frida’s reality begins to jar. The new refrain is that “something is wrong with this place.” This, coupled with the idea that the ability to forget is a gift, spurs the latter half of the film. Indigenous serpents, mysterious perfume, and the shadowy natives serving the guests become increasingly important. The turning point is Jess being bitten by one of the snakes. The film kicks into high gear, building to terrible revelations in the final twenty minutes. The violence is appropriately brutal and relentless and cannot be unseen.

While the plot has been explored in various incarnations, Kravitz shows great skill, imbuing every scene with low-boiling tension. Even the brightest sunlight and the clearest swimming pool project an atmosphere of dread. She employs often-trod tropes—a creaking door, a stack of hidden Polaroids, a particularly sharp knife—but nothing seems gratuitous. Even the omnipresent red gift bags project a menace.

Naomi Ackie in a scene from ‘Blink Twice.’ Photo courtesy of Amazon MGM Studios

Ackie beautifully arcs Frida from uncomfortably passive to a resourceful and righteous warrior. She is matched by the extraordinary Arida Arjona, as Sarah, a C-list celebrity from a “babes-as-survivors” reality show. The adversarial relationship underlies the point that society pits women against women. When the situation shifts, so does their dynamic; together, they own the film’s final stretch. Tatum (in seemingly Brad Pitt mode) is appropriately slimy, if a bit obvious, as the mogul. However, his take on forgiveness provides a brief but pointedly disturbing monologue; he is also effective in King’s flashes of doubt. 

The supporting cast, including Simon Rex, Liz Cabel, Levon Hawke, Trew Mullen, and Haley Joel Osment, serve their functions and play the few notes provided with ease and abandonment. Christian Slater turns in a familiar performance. Likewise, Kyle MacLachlan’s cameo as King’s therapist harkens to much of the actor’s earlier work. However, Geena Davis, as put-upon assistant Stacy, has one of the most memorable and alarming moments in the entire film. 

Blink Twice’s original title directly referenced the #MeToo movement, but presenters balked, and Kravitz changed the title to the more benign moniker. While initially resisting, she eventually embraced the reality that “we’re not there yet. And I think that’s something I have the responsibility as a filmmaker to listen to.”

While the film would have benefited from judicious cuts to the one-hundred-and-fifty-minute running time, Adam Newport-Berra’s exceptional camera work and Kravitz’s smart, taught direction build to a thrilling climax. She slyly introduces gallows humor when the story turns darkest, and her resolution borders on brilliant. 

While Blink Twice is not perfect, it is strong, riveting, and significant. It also heralds Kravitz as a significant new filmmaker who earns the titles of up-and-coming and accomplished.  

Rated R, the film is now playing in local theaters.

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Scott Peterson is currently serving life in prison for the murder of his wife, Laci. Photo courtesy of Netflix

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

The facts are these:

On Christmas Eve 2002, 27-year-old Laci Peterson, eight months pregnant with her first child, disappeared from her home in Modesto, California. Her husband, Scott, claimed to have last seen her at 9:30 a.m. Originally, Scott announced he was golfing but later revealed that he had gone fishing at the Berkeley Marina. When he returned home that afternoon, he found their dog, McKenzie, still leashed in the backyard. After showering and washing his clothes, Scott contacted Laci’s mother to see if Laci was there. Both Scott and Laci’s stepfather reported Laci missing. While investigating, detectives found Laci’s keys, wallet, and sunglasses in her purse and closet.

Scott Peterson is currently serving life in prison for the murder of his wife, Laci.
Photo courtesy of Netflix

Immediately, a massive search was underway. Initially, Laci’s in-laws defended Scott, but as the investigation continued, the police became more suspicious. On Dec. 30, Amber Frey contacted the hotline, revealing that she had been dating Scott since November as she believed he was single. She recorded their conversations over the next month. On Jan. 24, 2003, the information went public.

On April 13, the fetus remains of Conner, Laci’s unborn child, was discovered in San Francisco Bay. The following day, the remains of a woman—later identified as Laci—washed up a mile away from where Conner’s remains were found. The area was just a few miles from where Scott had been fishing.

Police arrested Scott Peterson on April 18 in La Jolla, California. In addition to knives and credit cards (and his brother’s I.D.), Scott had fifteen thousand dollars in cash. He had grown a mustache and beard and dyed his hair.

Scott’s trial began on June 1, 2004, with jury deliberations beginning on Nov. 3. On Nov. 12, Scott was found guilty of first-degree murder for Laci’s death and second-degree murder for Conner’s death. On Dec. 13, the jury recommended the death sentence, which a judge enacted on March 16. After years of appeals and accusations of an unfair trial (2012 to 2015), the death sentence was overturned on Aug. 24, 2020. He was resentenced on Dec. 8, 2021, to life in prison without the possibility of parole.

On Dec. 20, 2023, Scott Peterson’s request for a new trial was denied, and in January 2024, the Los Angeles Innocence Project began its representation of Scott Peterson, claiming that he was innocent.

Since 2002, millions of words have covered the tragic death of Laci Peterson. Thousands of articles and hours of media coverage. The Perfect Husband: The Laci Peterson Story aired on USA Network in 2004. In 2005, CBS broadcast the movie Amber Frey: Witness for the Prosecution. 

The case featured on The E! True Hollywood Story, True Crime with Aphrodite Jones, Murder Made Me Famous, Crime Junkie Podcast, The Laci Peterson Story: A Dateline Investigation, Snapped, Truth and Lies: The Murder of Laci Peterson, How It Really Happened, 48 Hours, 20/20, etc. A&E produced a six-part series, The Murder of Laci Peterson (2017).

Netflix now presents American Murder: Laci Peterson. Directed by Skye Borgman (Girl in the Picture, Abducted in Plain Sight), the three-part documentary offers little new information. It mostly focuses on interviews intercut with archival footage and blurry, slow-motion B-roll recreations. 

Part 1: “What Do You Mean, Missing?” highlights the first six days and establishes the Petersons as the “perfect couple.” Part 2: “I Wasn’t a Mistress” follows Amber Frey, Scott’s girlfriend, as she aids the police by taping their conversations. Part 3: “Nothing Can Change the Truth” takes the story from arrest through trial and conviction.

There is no question that this is a heartbreaking story. Laci’s disappearance and murder was terrible in every respect. However, the point of revisiting the murder is to shed new light and a new perspective. For the most part, American Murder fails to do this. 

Throughout the two-and-a-half hours, the filmmakers fail to address why this particular case grabbed the country’s attention from the first moment. It acknowledges that Scott Peterson was tried on a great deal of circumstantial evidence (no DNA, no witnesses, no definitive weapon) but goes no further, emphasizing his disturbing behavior and questionable personality. It almost celebrates the mob mentality at the announcement of the verdict. It also never addresses the Innocence Project taking up his case, suggesting that Laci was murdered by the burglars of the neighbor’s house. In short, the documentary leans into ominous chords, peripatetic cuts, and eerie images.

For the most part, the interviews add little insight. The detectives revisit the same material and perspectives. Journalist Gloria Gomez speaks of the media frenzy but takes no responsibility for being part of that circus. There is an uncomfortable interview with two of the jurors that offers little perspective. 

The one powerful throughline is Laci’s mother, Sharon Rocha. While reliving this is painful, she maintains dignity and clarity. She divides her life between before Laci and after Laci and knows that this changed everybody’s lives. One of the last things she states is, “You don’t get over it; you just get through it.” Her interview is the most valuable part of the documentary.

On Aug. 20, Peacock presents Face to Face with Scott Peterson, featuring his first interview in decades. Undoubtedly, this will be a different perspective, emphasizing alternate theories. 

Stepping back from pure objectivity, Scott Peterson was a liar, a cheat, a narcissist, and most likely murdered his wife, Laci, a kind, gentle person. Like any victim of a violent crime, her story deserves and needs to be told—but always with integrity, sensitivity, and raw honesty. Unfortunately, American Murder does not rise to this standard.

The three-part documentary is currently streaming on Netflix.

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Blake Lively and Justin Baldoni in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Sony Pictures Entertainment

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

Colleen Hoover’s romance novel It Ends with Us, released in 2016, drew inspiration from her complicated family history. By 2019, the book sold over a million copies and was translated into over twenty languages. In 2021, the novel and Hoover’s other works gained renewed popularity from the #BookTok on TikTok. In 2022, It Ends with Us reached number one on both The New York Times and Publishers Weekly bestsellers lists, with nearly three million in print. The sequel, It Starts with Us (2018), became Simon & Schuster’s most pre-ordered book ever. (In full disclosure, this reviewer has read neither.)

Blake Lively in a scene from the film. Photo courtesy of Sony Pictures Entertainment

Justin Baldoni (best known as Jane the Virgin’s Rafael Solana) directs his third film, following Five Feet Apart and Clouds. Christy Hall, the director/screenwriter of Daddio and co-creator of the Netflix series I Am Not Okay with This, penned the adaptation. 

The writer and humorist Dorothy Parker once wrote of how often people would say: “Well, you might like it.”

Lily Blossom Bloom (Blake Lively) reluctantly attends her father’s funeral, where she attempts to deliver a heartfelt eulogy. Unable to say anything positive, she flees the church and returns to Boston. Contemplating life out on a random roof (unexplained), Ryle Kincaid (Justin Baldoni) enters in a rage, kicking a chair. Anger management issues, perhaps? Warning signs? He reveals he is a neurosurgeon who just lost a patient. This claim is much more complicated, revealed later in the narrative.

The emotionally elusive Lily and the player Ryle meet cute(ish). “Love isn’t for me; lust is nice,” he confesses. They embark on a friendship that is quickly aborted when Ryle leaves for emergency surgery. Lily opens her dream flower shop and meets quirky Allysa (Jenny Slate), who hires herself to work for Lily. The “twist” is Ryle is Allysa’s brother. Lily and Ryle rekindle the friendship, which shifts to passion. A generic build-up results in an unintentionally sparkless kiss. Love follows, ending up with marriage. 

Through flashbacks, the filmmakers reveal Lily’s father (Kevin McKidd) abusing her mother (Amy Morton). Additionally, high school student Lily (Isabela Ferrer) falls in love with a homeless boy, Atlas (Alex Neustaedter). Thrown out by his mother, Atlas bided his time until he could enter the military. 

In the present, Lily and Ryle coincidentally dine at Root, the restaurant the adult Atlas (Brandon Sklenar) opened upon completing his service. A love triangle results in jealous and violent reactions from Ryle, eroding the already tenuous bond. 

While little new is on offer, It Ends with Us contains enough plot and potential dynamic to make for a passable film. Unfortunately, the characters are so oddly and unevenly drawn that it feels simultaneously repetitive and confusing, as if the story was told over a soundtrack of white noise. The leaden pace emphasizes the clumsy dialogue composed of sentence fragments: “Uh … uhm … okay, okay … sure … yeah … okay. Yes.” Lily describes herself as an unreliable narrator—an intriguing concept if it were true. However, she seems to be almost unimpeachably upfront. 

The entire film seems to be what-you-see-is-what-you-get, down to the predictable montages: “Let’s go have fun” (karaoke and bowling), dating, and cleaning up the shop. Everything plays excruciatingly by the numbers. 

It Ends with Us is a meditation and—appropriately—an indictment of abuse. Eventually, it gets to the point but still pulls its punches. Just as with its whitewashed portrait of Atlas’s homelessness, the approach is facile and softens what should be even sharper and more brutal. The idea that we hurt the ones we love hovers in the background. 

One moment rises above the rest. After Ryle and Atlas lock horns, the next scene teams with raw desperation and emotional confusion. After this, it’s back to business as usual. The story’s final resolution is fair, uncompromising, but unsurprising. 

Lively is a solid actor and always watchable, but the forced layers of faux mystery do not help. Between the incomplete sentences and the nervous laugh, the character is less than indelible. Baldoni tries to balance Ryle’s two sides, but neither is fully realized. Unfortunately for Sklenar, he is saddled with the least variety. Slate’s Allysa is no different from her career’s other oddballs. As Lily’s mother, Morton is capable but uncomfortable. These are strong actors, but the material fails to reach their level. One bright spot is Ferrer, who captures the essence of Lively’s grown-up Lily; it is rare for two actors to assume a role at different points in their lives and truly seem like one person. 

The above opinion will most likely end up in the minority. The film grossed seven million dollars in its Wednesday and Thursday previews and is well on its way to a possible forty million dollar opening weekend. As with the novel, the story will satisfy most viewers. Just not this one.

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

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Josh Hartnett and Ariel Donoghue star in 'Trap.' Photo courtesy of Warner Bros. Studio

Reviewed by Jeffrey Sanzel

Will it have the craft of The Sixth Sense? The clumsy mess that was Lady in the Water? Or the true horror of the disastrous Old? Few directors inspire the puzzling mix of hope, disappointment, and divisiveness than M. Night Shyamalan. As the director, producer, and screenwriter, the king of the “twist” must take complete responsibility for his work.

His newest film, Trap, focuses on firefighter Cooper Adams (Josh Hartnett), who happens to be a serial killer dubbed “The Butcher.” Cooper takes his daughter, Riley (Ariel Donoghue), to a Lady Raven (Saleka Shyamalan) concert as a reward for her stellar report card. With a massive police presence, Cooper quickly learns that, somehow, law enforcement knows he is attending the concert. Under the guidance of Dr. Josephine Grant (Hayley Mills), an FBI profiler, every man of a certain age and type will be checked before they can leave the arena.

The premise is simplistic but not without interest. A concert setting is naturally charged—a closed universe of organized chaos—screaming teen fans, food counters, and a warren of dressing rooms, storerooms, and connecting doors. The scenario and location open a world of possibilities. Unfortunately, Trap fails to spring, plodding and creaking as the resourceful Cooper evades capture in a series of “close calls.” 

Eventually, Trap builds to a half dozen false endings, one more predictable than the last. The film’s minimal tension escapes like the air from a bicycle tire (a specifically selected metaphor). The Oedipal layer to the killer’s motivation has played in myriad films since the 1970s, and the revelation lands with a thud.

Hartnett (exceptional in last year’s Oppenheimer) seems to be vying for the Most Excruciatingly Goofy Dad Award in a performance of painful grimaces, pasted grins, and “gosh-heck” incredulity. He punctuates every line with a waggle of the eyebrows that would make Groucho blush. In the opening moments, his daughter urges him to drive faster so they do not miss the opportunity to glimpse Lady Raven leaving her tour bus. He responds that they do not want to break any laws:  “Trust me.” The aggressive lack of subtlety is almost impressive. Riley comments more than once, “You’re acting strange, Dad.” Strange acting, indeed. 

Hartnett and company are failed by a script composed solely of cliches. A subplot about a mean girl, Jody, who has been freezing out Riley, amounts to several shrill exchanges between Cooper and the girl’s mother (Marnie McPhail). After Cooper manipulates Lady Raven’s uncle and promoter (M. Night Shyamalan), Riley goes onstage as Lady Raven’s “Dream Girl.” Outraged by her peer’s opportunity, we glimpse Jody throwing a cup of soda in her mother’s face. 

Alison Pill is a strong actor but does not appear until the final act when she takes the mantle of clueless wife. Even with the character’s few extra shades, she cannot rescue the absence of surprise and dimension. 

The concert portions are grating. In another film, the director might comment on pop culture’s empty self-indulgence and repetitive nature. However, one suspects Shyamalan is showcasing his daughter’s singing career. (Social media also helps to save the day.) As an actor, Saleka is decent, but like Pill, given few notes to play. As for Jonathan Langdon’s duped t-shirt seller, Jamie—the stereotype borders on offensive, especially in the film’s tag. Hayley Mills’ Dr. Grant amounts to an extended cameo, but she lends a hint of gravitas with her rich voice and regal bearing. 

Shyamalan populates the world with enough police and SWAT extras to fill a Batman franchise. Visually, the shots are strangely static, often screaming, “Look here—he’s going to do something clever.” He liberally “borrowed” elements from The Hitcher, Silence of the Lambs, Dressed to Kill, Dexter, and even A Clockwork Orange. 

In particular, he saddled Hartnett with elements of these famous psychopaths but then directed him to play Cooper with the vigor of a middle school Thanksgiving pageant. Trap is less Hitchcock and more Parent Trap. 

Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me. Fool the moviegoing public repeatedly—Shyamalan on all of us.

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

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